


All Your Lies

by Nightfall24



Series: Strange Desire [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Branding, Come Eating, Crime Scenes, Dark Sherlock, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Folie a Deux, Guns, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, Marking, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor John, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sherlock, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Scarification, Self Harm, Shower Sex, Sick Sherlock, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Underage Anal Fingering, Verging on, humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfall24/pseuds/Nightfall24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the events of Liar, Sherlock is doing everything in his power to keep John in his grasp. Whether it be manipulation or threats, the Detective will stop at nothing until he is sure John will never leave him. </p><p>Part four of 'Strange Desires.' Lies, I'm Not Calling you a Liar, and Liar should be read before this part of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burden in My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again everyone! I'm not really sure what's wrong with my brain but I've been trying to write nice fluffy things. For some reason though, I just keep coming back to the dark icky part of the Sherlock fandom. Oh well :D 
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters part for is going to have. I'm also unsure if it is going to time jump and be a bunch of snip-its or if plot will latch on and create another full part to the series. Whatever my disturbed mind decided to do, I hope you enjoy part four of 'Strange Desires.'
> 
> Also, for those who care, the band/artist I'm using for my chapter titles this time are Soundgarden and a bit from their lead singer Chris Cornell when he went solo.

Chapter 1 – Burden in My Hand

**Six months later**

It was two o’clock in the morning when John was startled awake by a searing pain just above his left shoulder blade. His eyes flew open in panic while his hands and feet scrambled to get away from whatever was piercing his back. A loud scream, sounding nothing like his voice, echoed from John’s throat when a heavy weight on his back kept him locked, belly down, on to the bed. “Sherlock!” Were the first words out of the youth’s mouth, praying that the only man who could save him from this torture wasn’t the cause all along.

_What is that smell?_ After the initial panic wore off, John stilled a moment to assess what was actually happening. Burning flesh, that’s what it was, burning flesh permeated the bedroom as John lay struggling and helpless under an unmovable mass. _Oh fuck, oh fuck. Okay, this has to be a dream. I’m only dreaming. Just wake yourself up, John. Come one!_ “Ahhhh!” He screamed when the pain started all over again, this time a bit lower than the first.

“Shh, John, shh, I’m almost done,” a deep voice said above him. _Sherlock?_ “You’re being such a brave boy for me, John,” Sherlock cooed above him. To John’s dismay and sadly relief, the words soothed the pain in his shoulder like a fast acting balm. It still hurt though and the horror of the unknown was still too much for the young man, so he began to lash out…or, at least tried to lash out. Before John could even get his hands under him to push up, a large hand began petting through his hair gently, playfully even. _This has to be a dream, this has to be a dream._ John continued to chant those words over and over again in his mind, even as the hand on his head held him down, forcing him to submit to the pain. _This is real pain! Not dream pain!_

“Sherlock, stop, what are you doing?!” John shouted, his throat clogging up and unavoidable tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

 “Done!” Sherlock said, a note of pleasure in his voice as if he had just finished a rather troublesome experiment. “So beautiful,” the words were matched by a deep sigh of relief on John’s part as the pain turned into nothing but a dull deep ache. “My John,” Sherlock growled happily, a noise John had become quite familiar with over the past six months. The same hand that had held him down during, whatever it was Sherlock had done to him, was now stroking gently down John’s spine.

“What did you do to me?” John asked, his voice thick with saliva, pain, and above all exhaustion. The boy tried to roll over to see his keeper, his lover, his one link to everything good and bad in their little world, until the hand on his back stopped him.

 “No, stay on your stomach, John.” Sherlock bent down to hover above John’s back, his knees digging into the boy’s hips and his obscenely hard cock pressed against the blonde’s ass. “You’re hurt, I need to fix you.” John couldn’t help but smile at the word choice, understanding why ignorance was bliss. Those simple words of ‘I need to fix you,’ warmed the fourteen year old John’s heart to the brim at the thought of every trouble disappearing because of Sherlock’s touch. _Ignorance._ Now though, John knew the true meaning of the words, the possessiveness behind them, the manipulations behind them… and the threats behind them. Knowledge was like a cage where the imprisoned has the key but wouldn’t dare set foot outside for fear of what lies beyond the bars. Bliss however, was when John walked among the beasts outside the bars, ignorant of the truth in the comforting fog that surrounded him. _Ignorance, ignorance is…was, bliss._

Sherlock lifted his leg over John’s back, stepping gracefully onto the floor and then wondering off to grab a first aid kit and whatever else he needed to fix what he did to the boy’s back. John accepted it and was learning to love it; the pain and then soft caresses until he fell peacefully asleep in warm arms. As far as cages went, this one wasn’t too bad when John allowed his thoughts to stay superficial and avoid those dark memories of bridges and bathtubs…of escapes.

John had tried to kill himself twice after that night at Mycroft’s house. It didn’t turn out well, in fact, John was pretty certain he had screwed himself over even more by his stupidity. _That’s the one thing I’m good at, I guess, fucking my life up._ The first time, John had discovered drain cleaner under the sink while he was fixing up Sherlock’s outrageously dirty flat. The thought ignited quicker than flint striking steel and he grabbed the bottle, slamming the bathroom door shut in an attempt to buy him some time before Sherlock found him. It was water that flowed into his belly though, no poison to eat away at his insides, he had Sherlock for that after all. The detective was standing outside the door when John came out of the bathroom. He didn’t even fight Sherlock when he tied the boy up with rope, shoulder to toe, for three days. _It was nice not having to move._

The second time was a bit rougher, John recalled, waiting obediently on his stomach for Sherlock to return. Sherlock had spent every waking hour with John, working from home and allowing John to continue most of his education online until he could be trusted to go back to the hospital. Apparently, a letter from Mycroft Holmes can accomplish anything, even when it comes to Universities and rule bending. However, the morning that John got the idea, Sherlock was forced to leave the flat to visit a crime scene. Little did the young man know, as he broke the window in their room and held it to his femoral artery, when one Holmes was unable to watch him, the other was waiting on deck just outside the bars of his cage.

Two men had barged into the room, only allowing John a small but deep cut in his inner thigh before they removed the knife from his hand and pinned him to the bed. Mycroft had waited with John as a private doctor patched him up, which only required one embarrassing plaster. The two brothers had a long conversation outside the door as John sat staring at the ceiling, picturing himself lying in a pool of blood and his eyes closing peacefully.

As punishment, Sherlock had decided to borrow a sort of blood transfusion kit and keep John filled with just enough blood to survive. Even blinking was exhausting as his life was drained, hanging on by one single thread in Sherlock’s fingers. It took five days of Sherlock taking care of him, nursing him back to health after a week’s worth of ‘detox,’ as the older man called it. It was at that moment, when John had enough blood back inside him for Sherlock to suck him off, the young man realized impulse attempts would never succeed. If he was going to escape, John knew, he would need a plan and possibly some help from an ally on the outside. John tried not to think that way anymore, though, unwilling to put someone else at risk, knowing they would end up just like Mary.   

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Sherlock, he did, but in the way one loves air or gravity; it was just…there. Air was necessary and often provided a lovely breeze when it wasn’t a raging cyclone of destruction or hovering over the ocean until it came upon land to wreak havoc. Gravity was also nice, John considered, unless you trip and then land face first onto the pavement.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, love,” Sherlock’s voice interrupted, his tone light. “I want to show you before I clean you up.” _Please don’t be what I think it is. Or even better, please just be a dream. Please, please, please._ A hand mirror appeared by John’s face, which was still turned to have his right cheek pressed into the pillow. He peered into the mirror, seeing Sherlock’s silver eyes peering back at him and another hand mirror showing him his back. _Huh,_ was all John could think, or rather was unable to think anything else because his feelings were so damn conflicted his head hurt worse than the actual burn marks on his shoulder.

John saw a wolfish smile at one side of the mirror while the lower half displayed the giant initials ‘SH’ burned into his left shoulder. “So you don’t ever forget,” Sherlock whispered above him, a slight threat heard in the timbre of his voice. “This is mine,” he placed his nose on John’s blonde hair, “this is mine,” Sherlock wormed his hand under John’s hip, grabbing ahold of his limp cock, “and this is mine,” he finished, placing a kiss to the boy’s back where his heart was. “And I’m yours, John,” Sherlock said into his nape, making a shiver run down John’s spine.

It felt good, the pain was fading and the warmth Sherlock provided on his back made John feel secure inside his little cage, his keys clutched tightly in one hand while the other gripped onto his lover’s shirt for dear life. It felt good to be owned, to be taken care of when broken and John hated himself for it, for being a weak, for feeling thankful that someone burnt their initials into him like cattle. “You just go back to sleep, love, and I’ll put a bandage on this so you don’t hurt yourself.” He could hear the genuine smile in Sherlock’s voice.

Sherlock placed different smelling ointments and disinfectants on the raw burn, making John hiss in pain. Then, he would stop and stroke down John’s back lovingly, playing with his bullocks or his hole a bit until the pain died down to just a constant ache and start tending to the wound again. Finally, Sherlock had patched him up, peppering kisses around the gauze before he lay back down on the bed, placing a long arm and leg over the boy’s body. “Go back to sleep, we can do the front tomorrow,” Sherlock said, his breath warm on John’s ear.

John sighed at the words, trying to fall back asleep and still praying for that tiny chance that this was all just a nightmare. The problem was though, he wasn’t sure what the real nightmare was anymore; being alone crying in a shower, jumping of a bridge, being tied up in rope so he wouldn’t hurt himself, or lying next to a warm body that he knew would take care of him. It was all one massive ball of confusing thoughts and feelings making the line to distinguish reality impossible for John to find.

The thought that haunted John every night before he went to sleep was the fact that even though he had the key to the cage in his hand, he was too much of a coward to ever leave the warmth the beast curled around him had to offer. Knowing he would never be able to leave because of Sherlock and Mycroft’s persistence was something John could accept. However, knowing why they always succeeded in keeping him, or better yet, why John decided to slit his leg rather than stabbing his temple was the cause for the dark pit in the boy’s stomach. John closed his eyes, feeling sleep possess him again as the feeling of fingertips drawing ‘SH’ over and over again on his back provided knowledge that the beast was still there.    


	2. Climbing up the Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV directly after chapter one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on the last chapter, I really appreciate it(:
> 
> This chapter has more branding and scarification in it, so beware. Also, plot should be starting in the next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 2 – Climbing up the Walls

**That either way he turns - I'll be there**

**Open up your skull - I'll be there**

**Climbing up the walls**

**Climbing up the walls**

**Climbing up the walls**

**\--- Climbing up the Walls; Original lyrics by Radiohead, performed by Chris Cornell**

If there was a Heaven, Sherlock knew this was it and he would never, ever loosen his grip on what was now his. _Who would?_ John was just so…John, was all the Detective could come up with when describing his boy to his older brother. It didn’t make any sense why someone so seemingly ordinary had the power to sate the darkness inside of Sherlock until nothing was left but the waves gently kissing the shore. Every day was like this: one kiss, then peace, one touch, then bliss, he fucks John, then ecstasy, John fucks him, then an ultimate burst of tranquility. Sherlock would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep John from leaving, even if the boy still fought with all his might to not want Sherlock. It was a losing battle, he knew, but John still wouldn’t completely give in to his desires. It was frustrating, and Sherlock had never been a patient man but luckily his John was teaching him even in his stubbornness.

 Sherlock smiled at the boy, looking at the white gauze on his shoulder blade. An actual shiver ran down the man’s spine at just the thought of how his initials would heal and become permanent, John’s body never rejecting him ever again. Then, the look on John’s face every time he felt the bumps of an ‘SH’ on his back or saw the one near his pelvic bone that Sherlock would give him later, drove the man to almost come untouched. It was magnificent and the only thing that would make it better was if John removed all thoughts of escape from his head, be it death or something worse. Hopefully, if Sherlock, with the help of Mycroft of course, could prove to John enough times that the boy was better off with him and escaping was pointless, then he would accept his love for the older man above all else. His John was a bull headed little thing but perhaps that’s why he was so perfect.   

For now though, Sherlock was willing to indulge John in his plotting games. After all, they would never work out and in the end would only prove in Sherlock’s favor by verifying exactly what he had told John more than a hundred times. “You are mine,” he whispered into the boy’s ear, rutting his achingly hard cock against John’s thigh and buttocks. Sherlock began kissing the tender skin just outside the plaster, willing the pain he caused, _necessary pain of course,_ to vanish from the boy’s mind. Then, he moved his hand to drape over the still sleeping form and began rubbing gently over his belly. There was hardly any hair on his chest yet, save for a light sprinkling in the center and a trail of light brown leading down from his belly button.

A week ago, Sherlock had experimented on the differences between the hair on John’s head, armpits, arms, legs, chest, and groin to see which was his favorite. It was a tie between the thick patch around his perfect cock and the soft blonde hair that Sherlock could run his hand through every day and never get tired. Yes, John was his favorite experiment and never once failed to keep the detective’s interest.

Thinking back to the data he’d collected, Sherlock used one hand to gently pet John’s head, feeling the soft mussed hair under his fingertips while his other hand playfully trailed down to his other favorite place. Sherlock played with the hairs a bit, causing John to stir when he accidently, _or perhaps a tad intentional,_ tugged on some of the boy’s wiry pubic hairs. John huffed a bit, pulling himself out of the twilight sleep he’d been in after Sherlock had marked him so completely. _Well, not complexly. We still have one more side to go, don’t we John?_ Wanting to cause John as little pain as possible though, Sherlock would give his boy a present beforehand, which would surly dull the pain.

Sherlock did have an ulterior motive other than dampening down John’s pain, of course, but that was neither here nor there when both parties benefited greatly. Every sound John made during their love making was exquisite; his moans were the balm of Gilead, his cries the dew of Hermon, and when Sherlock’s name fell upon his lips…it was the goblet of life itself, and Sherlock drank every drop from his saving grace’s soul when their bodies became one. It was like floating on a cloud and Sherlock knew once John let go of his little boy notions of what was right and wrong, he would experience the same thing.

“Sherlock, stop,” John groaned out, undoubtedly still sore and tired from their midnight festivities.

“Stop?” Sherlock asked playfully, tugging on John’s flaccid penis and knowing full well in less than a minute John’s body would be forced to respond to its lover’s touch. “Are you sure, John?”

“It hurts,” the boy whined, trying to roll over onto his stomach, but Sherlock stopped him by pulling John tighter to his chest.

“I know it does love, I know. But guess what? I know just how to make the pain go away, don’t I?” He asked, smiling as he felt John growing thicker and heavier in his hand. “Don’t I?” John closed his eyes again, unconsciously bucking forward into Sherlock’s hand and then back into the man’s own stiff member. “Don’t you like it when I make you feel good, John?” Sherlock said, knowing he was in the perfect mindset to be asked that kind of question. When the Detective had asked him the same question while John was doing his homework online, all Sherlock received was silence and a look of resentment. Now though, John’s breath was picking up and the eighty percent of the boy’s mind that Sherlock possessed was coming out to play.

“Mmhmm,” was all John could get out, his voice catching when Sherlock started thrusting harder between the two mounds of delicious flesh. It was enough, not always, but most of the time rubbing off on John would sate him for a while.

“That’s my boy,” Sherlock grunted, feeling the exact moment John came with each throb of his cock vibrating through the older man’s hand. Two large and two small pulses was what John offered before he started to twitch in pain from overstimulation. Sherlock continued to hump John from behind, appreciating how his arse cheeks split with every upward thrust until finally, he came. “Yes!” He shouted, slowing his hips down and staying a moment longer in his post orgasmic glow. His seed had shot all the way up to reach the nape of John’s neck and for a moment, Sherlock fantasized about rubbing the white come into the burn mark, staking his claim even more. However, his medical knowledge intervened, telling him it was a very bad idea with too many unforeseen problems for his John. After all, he didn’t want to cause the boy any unnecessary harm.

John was breathing harder, still coming down as Sherlock placed his hands under the boy’s armpits and hoisted him up to maneuver him into a better position for the second part. Sherlock pulled his kit back onto the bed with one hand and then leaned back to use the headboard as support. John’s fist burn was the main concern, so the older man made sure to position him to where his back was resting comfortably on Sherlock’s chest, his head resting on a pale shoulder, while the bandaged shoulder hung to the side. “There we are,” he said, patting John’s tummy, making sure the boy was still calm. He didn’t want to cause John pain, hell, he would kill anyone who even tried. This though, this was something different, something essential for John to feel owned, feel needed. If a little pain was necessary, then Sherlock would be there to kiss away the ache every time, even if he was the one who caused the hurt in the first place.

“Wait, what are you doing?” John asked, his voice becoming a bit stronger and he started to squirm.

“Hush now, I told you I have to do the other side too. This way, you’ll be able to see it in the mirror, yeah, so you won’t feel sad when I’m not with you.” Sherlock grabbed the branding laser he’d manufactured himself over the past months. He’d thought about telling John what he was working on but thought better of it after the boy tried to cut his femoral artery. The laser was based off the medical version he’d seen, using electrical current to vaporize the skin and allow for optimal precision. Sherlock could feel himself getting hard again before he even turned the pen on.

John, however, did not seem as excited. However, Sherlock couldn’t blame the boy for being scared, so he just simply held him tighter, wrapping his legs around the shorter ones. “Sherlock, no! Don’t you dare!” John squeaked, bucking his hips up of the bed in panic. _Don’t I dare, John? Oh, my love, I do dare._ Sherlock only shushed him again, using his position and greater strength to hold John to him with only an arm and two legs, allowing his other hand the freedom to focus on the small patch of skin just above the hip bone.

“Don’t move your hips, John. We wouldn’t want to mess up,” Sherlock whispered, moving his hips up to grip the boy’s hips, making them immobile. Just as he was about to turn on the laser and make contact, John bit down on Sherlock’s forearm. It hurt but Sherlock only held on tighter, feeling as if the circle was being completed as John marked him as well. The bite only grew stronger as Sherlock turned on the laser, starting with the curves of the ‘S.’ John was using him as a mouth bit, transferring his pain over for Sherlock to take and devour so it never bothered any of them again. That was his job now, and he would do it for his John. “That’s it, just a little more, John, just a little more.” Sherlock kept repeating how brave he was being, how much he loved him all the while blood began dripping down his forearm from the boy’s powerful jaws.  

As he started on the ‘H,’ John’s iron grip started to slacken and Sherlock realized he was beginning to pass out from the pain. Perhaps it was better that way though, Sherlock thought as he completed the final vertical line and turned off the pen. He sat there a moment, stroking over John’s belly, watching as some of his blood from the bite mark dripped onto the tan flesh. “Good boy,” he praised again when John whimpered. “You can go back to sleep while I fix you up,” Sherlock whispered to him, relishing in the dead weight of John’s body on top of him.

Sherlock looked down at his handy work, noting how the pink tones created almost a blush color on John’s skin. He couldn’t wait until the scar healed and John would see it every day, reminded his fragile mind that he had a home. Also, Sherlock thought dubiously, he would see his initials whether he fucked John on his back or on all fours, which was always a plus.

Maneuvering himself from under John and dressing the seared wound, Sherlock hummed softly to lull his boy back to sleep. After John was tucked back in, lying on his side and supported by a barricade of pillows to insure he wouldn’t roll over and hurt himself, Sherlock carried the laser pen and his kit back into the bathroom. As he sat on the edge of the tub, Sherlock wiped the sweat off his right shoulder. It would be tricky to place a ‘JW’ using his left hand but he had thought long and hard about the location of John’s mark for him and had decided to choose his right side where John always rested his head. It would be a perfect display to both of them how much they were two halves of a whole.

As the pain was still fresh on his skin, Sherlock looked in the mirror and smiled at the small ‘JW’ on the front of his right shoulder. It felt right and Sherlock could only hope that this would convince his John to stop fighting and stay with him. He wanted John to be happy, he really did, but the only way was for the boy to just give in and let Sherlock take care of him. If this wouldn’t do it though, then he would just have to find another way to make John’s walls fall.                  


	3. Searching With My Good Eye Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV directly after chapter two. Sherlock finally takes John out of the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for all the support for this series. I've been splitting my time between writing this and two other fics, so if you feel like reading a Dom/Sub story, I would love for you to check out 'The Second Law.' Or, if you're more in the mood for sweet cuddles and angst, you might enjoy 'The Pack of 221B' series. 
> 
> Also, this chapter has descriptions of hangings and a crime scene in it, but nothing too gory. Anyways, enough chatting. I hope you enjoy the chapter(:

Chapter 3 – Searching With My Good Eye Closed

John stood in the bathroom staring into the mirror, praying that it was one of those trick props used in the circuses. His hand was splayed over his belly while the other slowly pulled the white gauze that was hiding what Sherlock had done to him. It ached and almost sizzled when the air hit the ‘SH’ just above his pelvic bone. “Fuck,” he whispered, cringing and looking up at the ceiling. He knew it was going to be intense living with Sherlock, but this…this was too much. The man was deteriorating right before his eyes; becoming more possessive, more lost in his own world as if the only thing he needed was John. Honestly, it sounded narcissistic, but John wondered if Sherlock forgot to breathe sometimes when his nose wasn’t inhaling the scent of his blonde hair, or anywhere else on his body for that matter.

It was nice, of course it was nice, to have someone that focused on him, love him above all else. _If you can even call it love, that is?_ Though John had given up thinking too hard about what illness, if any, Sherlock might have. _Who cares? All I know is that it’s too much. I tried, I really did, but fuck…I have to find a way out of this; If not for me, then for Sherlock. If I’m gone, then maybe he will balance out again, realize he doesn’t need me and go back to how he was before. But…but what if he goes looking for some other poor bloke? What if…this is why I stayed, remember? And why Mycroft is making me stay, because Sherlock is too unpredictable._

“John?” Sherlock called from just outside the door, “do you need some help?” The voice asked in a sultry tone. The Detective was insatiable, even with John being so young it was crazy how quick Sherlock wanted more, always more. Sometimes, when Sherlock would make him come so intensely or when he kissed him too deeply, John felt as if the man was sucking the life right out of him, as if he was some kind of succubus. Sherlock seemed to not only want to drain his will to escape but also, there was something deeper that the man wanted from him; his soul perhaps.

John wasn’t stupid, he was studying to be a Doctor after all, and though his deduction skills were nowhere near Sherlock’s level, he could see the change on Sherlock’s face after they had a good tussle in bed. It had happened when he was younger too, Sherlock taking him hard sometimes while others would be slow and gentle. John had blamed himself at the time, figuring he had done something to upset the man but now, now he realized that it was something in Sherlock’s head all along.

“No, I’m fine,” John called back, placing the gauze on and opening the door, “just checking on you handy work.” He made his voice light, feeling no need to get angry again over what had already happened. “It’s a bit red but no infection starting, so that’s good at least.” _Maybe I could die of infection! Natural causes, yes, that could be my ticket out of here. He’ll have to take me to a hospital, then. Right, okay, now I just have to discreetly undercook the chicken and shove it my face. Can’t be too hard, right?_  

“Oh, don’t worry about that, my little Doctor,” Sherlock smiled at him, sending uncontrollable warmth down his spine and appendages. John never understood how Sherlock had such an effect over his mind and body. He knew why, of course, but the how was far above anything John could comprehend, let alone fight against. It was as if Sherlock had made him just as dependent on him, as the Detective was on John. It was unsettling to say the least, but the sensations John felt threw a large wool blanket over those worries whenever Sherlock was around. That was always the rub though as John needed to be away from Sherlock to let the fog clear so his mind could come up with a solid escape plan; however, Sherlock never left him alone for more than five minutes at a time. _The first alone time I get today and I come up with shoving raw chicken in my face…good thinking John. Score zero to five hundred and twenty._

“You know I take good care of you. I wouldn’t let this get infected,” he rubbed his hand possessively around the edges of the plaster. That small act sent the blood John was using to keep his brain functioning, all the way down into his traitorous cock with the speed of lightning. God he hated it, but he loved it just as much, which John had no idea how that could be possible. “Someone’s eager this morning,” the man laughed, cupping him through the thin pants Sherlock had bought him online. John let out a groan as his skin became hotter, making the two ‘SHs’ glow. “Should we have another quickie…or slowie, before we start the day, John?” Sherlock began stroking his hard length through the cotton until finally, John found the will to grab the man’s hand to still his movements.

“Maybe-maybe later. I’m still a bit tired and sore from this morning,” John said, squeezing his eyes together and telling his cock to back off.

“Oh, I’m sorry love,” Sherlock smiled again, rubbing his hand over John’s belly. This did not help John’s task of deflating his cock, either. With a soft kiss to the forehead and a playful pinch to the bum, Sherlock left the bathroom to get dressed in the other room. “There are some bagels on the counter and orange juice in the fridge. You should eat, John, build up your strength to help your immune system.” Sherlock reappeared in the doorway, his loose gray shirt and checkered sleep trousers billowing behind in his wake. “I have a very important experiment I need to finish up today and I believe you have two essays due tomorrow, yes?”

“Umm, yeah,” John nodded in agreement. His school work was the only connection to the outside world really, at least until Sherlock decided to trust him enough to take him outside. Hell, the Detective still checked over his homework, discreetly of course, to make sure he wasn’t sending secret messages. John had never tried though, was too scared of other people getting involved in this…whatever it was. If he reached out to anyone, he knew they would share Mary’s fate. “I’m almost done though.”

“Good,” Sherlock gave him one last kiss on the forehead and then headed downstairs. Without much else to do, John brushed his teeth, shaved, and then threw on a pair of loose fitting pants and black shirt before he too, went down stairs to start the day.

Sherlock had bought poppy seed bagels, John’s favorite, for the week. He toasted one up, spread a good amount of jam on the bread and began to eat as his laptop, also a gift from Sherlock, booted up. John took a swig of orange juice as he typed in his password and began working on his school assignments. It only took two hours before he was done and had the documents submitted for ‘inspection’ by one of Mycroft’s men. _Now what?_ John asked himself as he sat back in his chair, stretching. As if knowing he would be done, Sherlock came in from the other room with a wild look in his eyes. “John, get dressed, there has been another murder, a ritualistic hanging it seems. This is the fifth one in three weeks,” Sherlock said, buttoning his dress shirt.

“You mean I can come with you?” John asked, cursing himself for sounding too eager. He had no idea what he would do if he was aloud outside, around other people, normal people, sane people. _Hell, they’ll probably think I’m crazier than Sherlock! ‘Help me, please! I went to a man’s house when I was fourteen and he raped me. Then I shot someone who tried to kill him. I had a mental break down and then five years later I went crawling back to him. Now I have his initials burned into my skin.’ Yeah, it really rolls of the tongue doesn’t it, John? I am so fucked._

Sherlock walked over to him, eyes assessing every inch of his body with those liquid silver eyes. “Can I trust you, John?” He said, wrapping his large hand around the boy’s nape, pulling him in close so John could feel their breathe passing from one another. “I want to, my sweet boy, but you still get those nasty thoughts in your head, don’t you?” John couldn’t help but look down as if he was a small child being accused of drawing on the walls. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you again, John. I couldn’t bear it,” he pulled John flush against him, the man’s chest hard and unyielding as he pulled them into a deep demanding kiss.

There was no give and take in this kiss, though it was coaxing and seductive the way Sherlock bit John’s lip, sucking slightly until the younger man was breathless. “Sherlock,” John started but was cut off with a bony knee pressing up between his legs. “I won’t…”

“You won’t what, John?” Sherlock smirked, snaking his hand down underneath the elastic waist band of John’s trousers. The boy gasped into Sherlock’s mouth when a warm soft hand took hold of his cock and began squeezing and stroking up and down. Their kissing halted when Sherlock moved his swollen lips down to the bobbing apple of John’s throat. His sucking was obnoxiously loud but John could care less as his hips started bucking of their own accord, seeking out the friction Sherlock was giving him.

“Fuck,” John said breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock so he didn’t collapse to the floor. It was embarrassing and a tad scary how little control John had over his own body. It was as if Sherlock was hardwired into his brain and all his desires.

“Such language,” the older man chastised playfully. He continued his ministrations, working his other hand down to play with the drawn up sac, rolling and squeezing gently in his hands, which brought a shameful cry from John’s lips.

“Sherlock, I won’t…I won’t do anything stupid,” John tried to focus but he could feel the heat gathering his belly and his muscles tighten in anticipation of the inevitable. “I just…I just want-“

“Tell me what you want, John,” Sherlock whispered, giving a good squeeze to his bullocks and a few rough tugs. That was all it took for John’s body to tense and his cock to pulse spastically into Sherlock’s hand and his own trousers. Sherlock’s hand continued its touches, though they were more gentle to the point of almost tickling. They stood there for another moment, John’s breath slowing as the burns on his shoulder blade and stomach pulsed painfully with a dramatic heartbeat.

“I just want to go outside again,” he was finally able to say, “please.” Sherlock was looking down, rubbing and playing with John’s slowly waning length. He balanced and weighed it in his hand, pulling the foreskin back, almost mesmerized by the piece of flesh. “Sherlock?” John groaned, feeling the oversensitive skin scream to be left alone.

“I want you to be happy, John,” was all the man said before he stepped back and held up his come covered hand for inspection. Sherlock held out the hand to John, giving a mischievous look, nudging it towards the boy’s lips.

“No thanks,” John laughed, feeling relaxed and a tad giddy as he batted the hand away, “I’ve got plenty,” he looked down at his soaked trousers. John had lost count of how many shirts had been ripped by Sherlock, how many zippers had been broken, and how many pants had been stained. “You can keep it,” they both laughed at that, but Sherlock took it to heart and began moving his tongue around his own fingers to get every drop. _Fuck, no calm down, John, you’ve had plenty for today. We need to focus on what’s going to happen when we go outside._

“You taste so good, John,” Sherlock’s voice was husky and dark. “Now, hurry up and go upstairs to change clothes. We leave in five minutes.” Without another word, John ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time. He quickly washed himself off and threw on a pair of jeans and a black and blue striped jumper. Thoughts of who he would see, what the crime scene would look like, and even where they were going flew through John’s mind rapidly. If he played his cards right, perhaps Sherlock would trust him enough to go out on his own one day. Then, he would have a head start and possibly find a way out of the city. John knew he couldn’t go to the police or any government owned places without fear that they might be working for Mycroft. No, John would have to find someone outside of the Holmes’ reach if he was going to plan a successful getaway.

John ran back down the steps, using his hand to flatten his hair down. Sherlock was waiting for him with an eagerness John had seen many times when they were in bed together. It didn’t take them long to catch a cab, nor was it a very long drive to the crime scene. Perhaps it only seemed that way though as John was so busy smelling the fresh air, looking up at the grey sky, and watching people walking outside. It was always strange, John thought, to watch other people, realizing that they had a life completely different than his. They had their own troubles, own families who they went home to every night or called every weekend. Everyone he saw had their own life and they were completely oblivious to everyone else’s secrets. _No one would ever guess what secrets sit inside this cab. That lady in the blue jacket could be a killer as well, or that man over there could have two wives who don’t even know about each other._

“Are you okay, John?” Sherlock asked as he stepped out of the car. John hadn’t even noticed they arrived. He nodded, smiling to reassure him, and then stepped out of the car to see tons of police officers and caution tape spread around a building. “Stay close to me, okay,” he was told and obeyed without thinking, his mind setting to default in an intense situation. _Just do what Sherlock says and everything will be fine._

“Who is this?” A woman asked as they approached the scene.

“Ah, DI Donovan,” Sherlock greeted and John could tell it was the fake sentiment he used when he hated someone. “This is John, he’s studying to be a Doctor. I thought it would be perfect for him to get some field experience.”

“Is that so?” She asked, skeptical. For a moment, John’s heart rose in his chest. _I might not have to do anything at all. This Detective knows something’s up. Wait, what do I tell her if she asks me if I’m okay? Oh God, this was a really bad idea. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. She’ll take Sherlock away again and then I’ll be all alone…again!_

His thoughts were stopped however, when Sherlock spoke up, “Mycroft had requested it actually, shall I give him a call?”

The dark woman blanched at the name and John knew instantly that he would not find any help here at this crime scene. He sighed in relief, his body relaxing of its own accord. _Damn it, John, what is wrong with you?_ The boy rubbed a shaky hand over his face, trying desperately to get the room to stop spinning. “John?” Sherlock’s voice grabbed a hold of him while hands on his shoulders offered a pleasant weight to keep him from spinning out of control. “You’re alright, love, just breathe for me. That’s it, you’re just having a bit of a panic but I’m here, I won’t let go of you.”

John continued to gasp for breath but the world slowly stopped spinning and all he saw were two silver orbs staring back at him. “There you are,” Sherlock smiled, “I’m sorry, John. That was my fault; I shouldn’t have thrown you in the deep in like that. Are you alright?”

John nodded, “No, no, I’m fine. Just got a bit light headed there for a second. Let’s go,” John said, motioning towards the end of the hallway where there was a congregation of officers. There was slight chatter and the sound of clicking from the camera used by the forensics team, but John’s attention was focused on the man and woman hanging from the ceiling via an intricate pulley system.

“Ah, Sherlock, glad you’re here,” a man wearing a suit said, motioning them over. “It’s happened again; same method, same profile, same everything. Two parents killed and one child left alive, a boy this time, Archibald Clemmons age ten, but still the same history as the others.”

“When did they get him back?” Sherlock asked, but John had no idea what they were talking about, so he continued to stare at the two hanging bodies. There were claw marks on each of their throats and blood on their fingernails. John didn’t have to be a detective to figure out that they were still alive when they were hoisted into the air. _How could someone do this?_

“Just over a year ago,” the other man said, “he seems to be coping rather well, but he might still be in shock. Children Services is on their way now.”

“Can I talk to him?” Sherlock asked, “he might have seen something.”

“You know I can’t let you talk to the kid yet. Especially not-“

“I won’t talk to him,” Sherlock said, looking over to meet John’s eyes. “I just want to observe him, you know why I’m here, Michaels, so let me do my job.”

“Alright, fine, but no asking the kid questions about what happened until we get him back to the station.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sherlock waved a frivolous hand, excusing himself from the room. Instinctively, John followed, the thought of Sherlock being around another child, a ten year old boy, setting off alarms inside his entire body. _He wouldn’t, would he?_

When they arrived outside, John spotted a young boy in the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Archibald, the officer had said, had dark brown hair, longer than Sherlock’s, but he was just as pale as the Detective, save for the bright pink in his cheeks caused by shed tears. _Poor kid._ Strangely, John heard a familiar gasp from the man next to him. _Oh God, no._ “Sherlock?” John asked, his throat feeling tight with worry and anger. _How could you even think that? This kid just lost his parents and you’re-_ He looked down and saw the Detective straining in his pants, a large bulge present, which meant only one thing.

John put his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes, remembering then and there why he stayed with Sherlock, why he let the man brand him, why he panicked when Donovan seemed suspicious. He was the barrier, the oasis, the sun that kept Sherlock occupied and sated so no one else would be taken down into the deep dark hole where the Detective took his prey. John would happily live in that cave when he saw a vision of a small blonde boy sitting in that ambulance with no one to protect him. John would though, he would make sure Sherlock couldn’t sink his teeth into anyone else…he just hoped he wouldn’t be consumed completely before it was all over.           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ebrill for suggesting Archie be thrown into this mess. I hope you're happy with yourself. LoL!


	4. By Crooked Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV before and during their time at the crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks again for all the support for this fic. Every comment and kudo mean a lot to me and keep me wanting to write more for you guys(:
> 
> I had a bit of trouble with this chapter, so I hope you guys like it.

Chapter 4 – By Crooked Steps

**Sherlock: I’m taking John to a crime scene today**

**Mycroft: The hangings, I assume**

**Sherlock: Yes. Is Donavan completely taken care of?**

**Mycroft: Of course, as is the rest of the Yard after I trimmed the fat a few years ago.**

**Sherlock: Good. My plan depends on it.**

**Mycroft: Be kind to young John, Sherlock. You have created these cracks and you cannot leave them be while you play.**

**Sherlock: I’m not playing, Mycroft. This is necessary for John’s own safety.**

**Mycroft: I will have my men on stand-by if you require their assistance.**

**Sherlock: It won’t be necessary**

**Mycroft: I hope you are right**

It was a big decision to let John come with him to a crime scene. Although he had taken precautions to ensure John’s first outing was in a controlled environment, Sherlock still worried about the raging battle that would surly take place in his boy’s head. It was obvious how much brain power John put towards thinking up an escape plan, which used to upset the Detective until he finally realized how the boy’s fractured mind worked.

Emotionally, it seemed that John was quite stuck at the same level he was when Sherlock first met him. However, after being brainwashed for five years without someone there to protect him, John’s brain told him one thing while his soul wanted something completely different. Sherlock had tried and tried to rid the boy of those barnacles and rot covered seeds therapists and ‘society’ had forced into his brain, but every time they took a step forward, John seemed to panic and try to crawl back into the tiny shell he created. _I am supposed to be that shell. He isn’t supposed to hide from me._

There were glimpses, little flickers, which made the lights shine bright in his mind palace when he saw his John come out, becoming completely vulnerable. It was those moments when John would ask him not to leave the bed, or to hold him just a moment longer that drove Sherlock’s mind to find the quickest and most painless way to once and for all rid the thoughts plaguing his boy’s mind. Then, as proof that the Gods were still on his side, a plan arose, dropping right into his lap in the form of four serial murders.

These weren’t just any murders though, no, they were all too familiar when Sherlock saw the names of the first three families. It took the Detective less than five hours in his mind palace to find where he had seen the names of the children whose parents were hung. He found what he was looking for on the second floor from the basement, where he only ventured after a good thorough fucking and when he held John in his arms to keep the monsters at bay. Dodging around corners and staying in the light wasn’t hard when blonde hair was right under his nose, the soft scent cloaking him with protection.

The names where in one of the file cabinets he’d created over the five years he hunted down Moriarty’s web and the pedophiles who bought the kids from the Irishman. It turned out Moriarty had grown his business quite a bit in the time he’d known Sherlock. Going from luring a few kids to him for his own pleasure to having a client list of pathetic men and women who paid by the hour to do whatever they wished with the children. The worst part, in Sherlock’s opinion, was when the clients were done with the kids, they would give him or her back to Jim who would then administer a homemade drug to wipe the child’s memory and send them back to where he found them.  

The names relating to the new case however, appeared towards the end of the list, which meant the children of the murder victims had been abducted long after Moriarty’s death. Although Sherlock had maimed the Hydra Jim had created, he knew all too well that the demon would only sprout more heads with every blow. As long as John was his and safe though, that was all that mattered to the Detective.

Sherlock had held John tightly to his chest, stoking over the freshly applied gauze as the boy slept. With his mind calm, Sherlock dove down into his palace and went over the information he’d retrieved about the three children. _The first child, Holly, username: GothicRomantic, fourteen years old, chatted with four men all over age eighteen. Disappears for two months, back home for one year, parents murdered by hanging. Second child, Darren, username: GamerU, twelve years old, chatted with six men and two women, all over the age of twenty one. Abducted for one week, back home for fourteen months, parents murdered two days after Holly’s. Third, Kaitlyn, username: MathSux-NeedHelp, nine years old, chatted with twenty eight men and nine women. Abducted for three days, back home for seventeen months, parents murdered by hanging three days after Darren’s._

Sherlock sighed, gaining a tighter grip on John’s good hip as he added the new information Donovan had just texted him. _Fourth child, Archie, username: MaggotsRCool, ten years old, chatted with nine men and one woman all above age twenty. Abducted for a month, back home for a year, parents murdered three days after Kaitlyn’s._ All of these children, Sherlock knew, would have one common link, one man or woman who would be known by many different names but had the same end game. Someone had taken the crown from Moriarty, but this time, something had changed. The new ring leader had a different agenda than Jim, _but what is it?_ _Why would you return the child and then kill their parents? Why such a big spectacle for an industry that relies on anonymity and secrecy?_

Though he was mildly intrigued by this new turn of events, Sherlock had his own plans to draft and he was sure even the poor excuses for computer forensic scientists at the Yard would be able to find the common thread eventually. For now, though, he knew just how to use the situation to pull John all the way back into his arms for good. By the time John awoke for the day to come, Sherlock had two solid plans to ensure John would be at peace and finally accept his place by Sherlock’s side.

It was these thoughts that passed through the Detective’s head when he saw the small ten year old boy sitting in the back of an ambulance. He could almost hear everything click into place, practically hear John’s heart and mind become fully his. Archie, as the instant message transcript revealed he liked to be called, was small for his age. _Just like you, my John._ Alone and obviously scared, _ah how reminiscent._ He could tell John was already in distress just from seeing the boy, causing Sherlock to bask in his own brilliance for just a moment.

Though John would be affected greatly by the flashbacks he was no doubt having, the one thing that Sherlock knew would tip the boy over the edge was his own protective instincts. It was a tad cruel, he could admit that, but life had shown Sherlock that the ends always justified the means. _And oh this end is going to be so worth the suffering, John._

Sherlock focused for a moment, flooding his head with all the things John would do to him when he believed Archie was the man’s prey. Would he try to seduce the Detective, get his mind on him and only him for the rest of time? Would his brave boy tell him off right then and there? Would John jump his bones as soon as they got into the car, proving what Sherlock already knew, _you are all I need John…forever._ All these thoughts helped to complete his plan, sending wave after wave of blood to his cock, filling it full until it strained visibly through his trousers. _Perfect._

Out of the corner of his vision, Sherlock saw John’s eyes double take and then stare up at him in horror. For added effect, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, a gesture he’d made hundreds of times while hovering over John. If he played this right, Archie wouldn’t even know what was going on, _the poor kids been through enough already,_ and John would be fucking him at 221B within the hour. “What do you think, John?” Sherlock asked, keeping his voice light and making the intent of his question unknown. Knowing John, his sweet John, the boy would immediately think Sherlock was asking if Archie should come back home with them. It was a bit sad really, and Sherlock took the blame upon himself that John would still think there could ever be anyone else in their lives. Now though, he was grateful for it and used it as an advantage.

“Oh…umm, about what?” the boy stuttered out, deliberately trying to keep his eyes off the thick bulge in Sherlock’s trousers.

“The boy, Archie,” Sherlock pointed over to the small form sitting in the back of the ambulance, “do you think he knows anything?”

“I don’t know,” John answered, turning his focus back to the boy. It was brilliant to watch as his boy, a gorgeous young man now, took an unconscious step forward so he was between Sherlock and Archie. “Probably not. Didn’t they say he was hiding the whole time?” John was desperately trying to come up with any way to keep the other boy safe. _That’s my boy._ “I don’t think he will give us anything to go off of...do you?” He asked tentatively, his voice laced with fear and anticipation. Even though John was five years older, it was still so easy to anticipate exactly how he would act. Not that it was boring, no, John could never be boring, but the fact that Sherlock could hold living putty in his hands gave an unexpected rush to his already aching member. It took a minute of steady breathing to not immediately come in his pants. _John, the things you do to me._  

Sherlock almost agreed. He was so close to believing John had realized what threats lay out in the world if he didn’t stay at Baker Street. However, this was just too important to leave any loose ends open, so the Detective made his move. “Hmm,” he scratched his chin, moving to step around John, “I’m not so sure. Children observe many things adults dismiss as superfluous. Young Archie could have seen something that will lead us to the person who murdered his parents.”

“Yeah, but didn’t the officer say you weren’t allowed to talk to him until he was taken back to the station?” John grasped at the water that was slipping through his hands. _As if being in a station would stop me from getting what I want. You know me better than that, John._

“When has that ever stopped me?” he gave a mischievous grin and started walking over to Archie. _Three…two…one…_ On cue, a small but strong hand wrapped around his biceps, halting his momentum towards the bait.

“I’ll tell Mycroft,” _oh, now that’s unexpected!_ Sherlock had to hide the proud smile on his face when yet again, John surprised him by his actions. He knew his brother might not approve of his methods, not many would, but once Mycroft was informed of Sherlock’s plan, John would fall even deeper into the trap. All the foot holds, the ropes, the ladders had to be removed for John to finally drop down the well and into Sherlock’s waiting embrace. “I swear I will, Sherlock,” his voice was a dark whisper, “and you know he’ll be on my side. Don’t,” was the last word John said, sending a beautiful shiver up the Detective’s spin.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, pulling John into a tight hug, making sure to press his hardness against the boy’s hip, “I’m sure you are exhausted. I shouldn’t have kept you out so long, John. Let me talk to one of the officers and get you a ride back home while I finish up here, yeah?”

“Sherlock…” John gasped. Sherlock could tell a knot was forming in the boy’s throat as he began to plead. “Don’t. Please…don’t. Just…you can just come back to Baker Street with me…please, Sherlock.” _Don’t cry, my sweet John._ It was much harder than he’d expected, manipulating John’s emotions when the situation absolutely called for it, such as getting him away from his mother and Mary, but right now Sherlock wasn’t 100 percent sure this was necessary. All it might have taken was for John to see his erection and let the blocks tumble as his own mind did the work for the Detective. This was his job though, Sherlock told himself, so he took a deep breath of the blonde’s hair and steeled himself for the time being.

“Everything is going to be okay, John, I promise,” he tried to reassure the boy, rubbing slow circles on his back. “Someone is going to take you home,” then, a brilliant idea hit him to boost John’s spirits a bit, but to also give himself more time to act out his plan, “and hey,” he held John back out at arm’s length, “why don’t you have them stop at the store so you can pick up some groceries for the week.” Sherlock smiled but John seemed unconvinced.

“Just come home with me,” John tried one more time, glancing helplessly at Archie once until those deep blue eyes came to focus back on Sherlock. Those words, those beautiful words meant so much to Sherlock he wanted to call it quits right then and go bugger John senseless in the back of someone’s car. He couldn’t though, he had to be strong to finish the bond, ensuring their future together.

“I’ll be home before you know it, John,” he kissed the boy’s head and motioned for one of Mycroft’s men to come over to take him to the car. “This is Giles, you are safe with him, I promise,” John’s eyebrows drew up in panic, but he seemed to calm a bit when Sherlock stroked a hand over his cheek. It was playing dirty, using an anchor point he’d created to help John unconsciously relax, but it needed to be done to avoid a scene.  

The large man put a gentle hand on John’s shoulder, turning him to walk towards the black car. “Please,” he begged one more time, unsure of what to do. Even though it was impossible for John to do anything anyways, deep down Sherlock knew he didn’t want to question, didn’t want to fight. No, all his sweet boy wanted to do was lay in Sherlock’s warm lap, and thankfully, that’s all Sherlock wanted too.  

**Sherlock: Tell Giles to take John to the Mart b4 Baker Street**

**Mycroft: How did things go?**

**Sherlock: Will fill you in later. I need a favor.**

**Mycroft: Of course you do. What is it you need this time, Sherlock?**

**Sherlock: Archibald Clemmons**  

 


	5. Part of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV directly after chapter four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, 
> 
> This chapter is gonna be rough, just warning you, but we'll get through it together. 
> 
> Also, make sure to check the notes at the end for some information about my thoughts on what the hell is going on(:

Chapter 5 – Part of Me

John didn’t even remember getting into the car. Sherlock had hugged him, kissed him on the forehead, and then someone had put him into the back seat of a very black, and very ‘Mycroft’ type car. The entire crime scene was a blur as well, though the picture of those two parents hanging from a rope had already burned its way into John’s mind for good. He remembered seeing the little boy too, Archie Sherlock had called him, sitting in the back of an ambulance. He knew he didn’t even know the kid, but there was something eating away at John, like a starving parasite gnawing at his living flesh. _Memories._

“He must be so lonely,” John mumbled to himself, quiet enough that the driver didn’t acknowledge him. He knew what that little boy was feeling, how alone, how scared, how desperate he must be to find any bit of light in a world void of sun. John had found his hope those many years ago; a light so bright it continued to consume him to this day. Was it worth it? Was the only question that really mattered now, or at least it was the only question that could give him peace.

He could try to escape again, sure, but where would that put him? _Sitting in the back of an ambulance, alone, that’s where._ John sighed, letting his head fall a tad too hard on the glass window. He also knew, from Sherlock’s reaction at the scene, that Archie could very well end up in John’s spot. _Did Sherlock really want that boy? Why? There was nothing overtly special about him…but, does that mean that I was the same way? Some scared little kid to be picked like a ripe orange from a tree? WHY DID SHERLOCK GET EXCITED WHEN HE SAW HIM!_ John punched his fist into the door, trying desperately to transfer his anger and confusion to the inanimate object.

“We’re almost there. Mr. Holmes gave orders to take you to the mart before 221,” the driver told him, breaking John’s train of thought.

“Okay, thanks,” was all the young man could think to say, though to be honest he really wasn’t processing what was going on completely. _Fuck, how can I even be thinking like this? Jealous of that poor kid? Damn it, John Watson, get your head on straight and start thinking. Okay, why am I allowed to go to the store now?_ John considered this, rubbing his throbbing hand gently. _Does Sherlock want me out of the way? No, no, that’s not it, he was just worried about me getting tired. Plus, he trusts me to go out now, even if I am being supervised. But why the FUCK was he hard at the crime scene?!_

“Are you alright, Sir?” the man in the front asked, turning around to look at him curiously. John was silent for a moment, most likely looking like a deer caught in headlights, until finally he nodded. “Well, we’re here. I’ve been given orders to go in with you, though I won’t hover. Please,” the driver asked, and John was surprised by the sincerity in the man’s voice, “don’t do anything stupid on my watch.”

“I won’t,” John said, just as sincerely, “you have my word. Honestly, I just want to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. That crime scene was just…”

“That bad, huh? I’ve heard about the multiple hangings in the paper. Horrible, just horrible.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, realizing how much he didn’t miss talking to other people. Truth be told though, he never really liked it before he met Sherlock either. When he was with Sherlock, he never had to say a word; the man just knew exactly what was going on in his mind. _But I don’t know what’s going on in his. I guess that’s the scariest part. Not knowing._

John stepped out of the car and waited for the ‘minder’ to catch up before they went inside the store. “Just need to grab a few things. I’ll only be ten minutes or so,” John told the man, grabbing a trolley to put his weight on as he walked.

“Alright, I’ll be here by the doors if you need anything,” the driver replied as he leaned up against the wall and checked his watch.

John tried not to think about Sherlock’s reaction at the crime scene. What it meant? What it could have meant? Did this mean that Archie was in trouble? Was John in trouble? Soon, his mind became overloaded with information as it always seemed to do with Sherlock. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, John knew. When he was lying in Sherlock’s arms or they were bathing together his mind never seemed to implode on itself. It was only when he thought about ways of pushing back, or even escaping from 221B that he felt like his head would explode.

 _I’m just being a selfish git, that’s what I’m being._ John thought to himself, grabbing a loaf of bread and throwing it into the basket. All Sherlock wanted was John… _until now, it seems. Is it because I keep trying to run away that he’s looking for another person to replace me?_ As he turned the corner, John felt the slight ache in his hip from the burn Sherlock gave him. It was strange and horrifying how safe it made him feel to know his lover had branded him with his own initials. _He won’t burn Archie with his initials._ John thought smugly, but as soon as the hatful remark passed through his mind, he stopped and cupped his hand over his mouth.

Tears began to weld up in his eyes from disgust in himself. _Holy fuck, how could I even think something like that? No, no, Sherlock can’t have Archie because it’s not right. It’s not right for a kid to go through what I want through. I was too young and didn’t have anyone to look out for me. I can’t let anyone hurt him because it is the right thing to do, damn it!_ His heart accepted this and knew it to be true, that he really was a good person and he would do his best to keep Archie safe for all the right reasons. However, the black door which opened to a black room with a smooth onyx fountain held what John’s mind wouldn’t let anyone, not even Sherlock, see. It was a grotesque thing that had grown for five years, only hitting a spurt over the last six months since he lived with Sherlock full time. There were thorn covered vines and dead roses intertwined around the black fountain, which continuously bubbled a black thick liquid that dripped onto the floor and seeped through the cracks of the cobble stones.

John hated it, hid from it for most of his life but sometimes, especially in the dead silence of night when he could hear the whispers the droplets made when they hit the ground. Sherlock had weaseled his way into John’s mind just as much as he was inside the Detective’s. It wasn’t right, John knew this and told himself this every single day, _BUT IT DOESN’T STOP THE BLOODY VOICES!_

“John?” A stranger’s voice called to him, breaking his train of thought, which was no doubt leading to a rather embarrassing melt down. John wiped his eyes, then gripped the handle bar of the trolley tighter as he looked up to see a ghost standing before him. Not a real ghost of course, but a man he barely even recognized as age and most likely liquor and cigarettes had done their work. “John…umm, John Watson? Is that you?”

“Uhh, yeah, umm-“ John stuttered, shocked to see the man who took him away from Baker Street those many years ago standing right in front of him in the dairy aisle. A bottle rocket of panic shot through him until the man smiled gently. “Yes, I mean, hello, Detec-“

“Oh no,” Greg said, putting up a hand to stop him, “I’m not even with the Yard anymore. They let me go a couple of years ago. Now I do private security work around London.”

“That’s umm…that’s nice,” John said, feeling like he needed to get away from this place as fast as possible. The man’s presence seemed to shine a light on the dark corners John wanted, no needed, to keep in darkness.

“How are you? You don’t look so good, mate,” Greg said, taking a step around his own trolley and towards John.

“I’m fine,” John snapped, pulling the basket in front of him to act as a barrier. He realized that was the wrong move when the man’s face turned serious. Suddenly, flashbacks of sitting in the back of a car, his hands cuffed as he cried for Sherlock flooded his mind from that one simple look. He needed Sherlock then and he needed him now, there was no denying it if the tremors in his hands were any proof. “I-I’m fine.”

“John, are you in trouble? Are you still in contact with the Holmes’?” John didn’t even have to answer. His retreat told Greg everything he needed to know. “John, I won’t tell anyone, I won’t get you into trouble, okay?” The man grabbed John’s trolley, keeping him in the aisle for a moment longer. “Just…if you need anything, if you get into trouble and you…just take my number, yeah? Please?” He grabbed a card out of his pocket and held it out for John to take.

The boy hesitated for a long moment. It was a lifeline, a real one, unlike the number Mycroft had given him, which John knew had the potential to make the situation worse. If he took it, John thought, there would be no going back. He would endanger Archie, Sherlock, and himself if that little piece of paper made its way into John’s pocket.

As if his arm was on a string, John reached out and grabbed the business card, which strangely felt like a lead weight in his hand. He quickly shoved it into his pocket before it burned a hole into his skin. “T-Thanks. I umm, I have to go.”

“John,” Greg called as John turned his back to exit the aisle. Against his better judgment, John turned around, looking into the past once again. “Even if you just want to talk, I’m here. You’re not alone.” _Yes I am. I have to be._ John gave a fake smile, one Sherlock used many times, but never on him of course, and then headed towards the front of the store.

“Everything alright?” Mycroft’s man asked as they began their trek back to 221B.

“Yeah,” John answered, smart enough not to mention Greg. Even if the driver seemed to be on his side, John knew if he even hinted at talking to someone at the store, Mycroft, and consequently, Sherlock would hear about it.

John was angry, though angry at himself or Greg or Sherlock or even the bloody world, he didn’t know. _Why can’t things just be normal? What is normal?_ John made up his mind by the time they arrived to the flat that he wouldn’t call Greg. One, it wasn’t the man’s business anymore, and two, he would try and take John away again. John would be alone, Sherlock would be alone, and God only knows what would happen to Archie. Plus, even if he did reach out to Greg, who’s to say it would even work, and then he would be really screwed and possibly have more blood on his hands if Mycroft decided to kill the man for trying to help.

As John entered the flat, four bags in hand, he wondered if Sherlock was home yet. He wanted to be with Sherlock more than ever, to show the man that he didn’t need Archie, didn’t need to worry about John leaving, didn’t need to worry about him conspiring with Greg. John realized he was safe here, with Sherlock, and if he had to sacrifice a few things to have that calmness take over his mind, then he would do it willingly.  

After he put the groceries away, John headed upstairs, a small smile on his face as he took off his shirt to prepare for a nice long shower before Sherlock got home. John opened the door to their bedroom and stopped in the door way, eyes wide and heart completely stopped in his chest. _N-No._ In their bed was a completely naked Sherlock, lying on his stomach with his arm stretched out to the side draped over a small pale body that was in a similar position. It was Archie, naked and asleep under Sherlock, who was also asleep in their bed, _in our bed._

John felt something inside him break, something similar to when he was a boy and he found out he wasn’t going to see Sherlock for ten years. Except this time, instead of tears and sorrow, John felt anger boil up inside him as the small fountain began to gush with the black tar Sherlock had fed him over the past six months.

His face hardening, John stepped back out of the room, and quietly shut the door. He wiped away one stray tear as he pulled out his phone and the business card Greg had given him. If Sherlock thought he could throw John away that easily, he had another thing coming.          

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering what the hell is going on with John, here is what I'm thinking. There is a mental illness called Folie a deux, or shared psychotic disorder. It is extremely interesting and if you'd like to learn more about it, this is the link I'm using for my own research. http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/293107-overview. 
> 
> Of course there is a touch of Stockholm Syndrome in there too, but this is taking it a step further, where Sherlock is actually 'infecting' John. So anyways, yeah, this is pretty fucked up and I'm sorry...not really(:


	6. Been Away too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's POV directly after chapter five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so much for waiting and all the kind words you left in the comments, I really appreciate it. I still have some stuff I'm working through, but my plan is to update both All Your Lies and The Second Law once a week. Again, thanks for sticking with me and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> The next chapter will be Sherlock's POV, so don't worry, you'll find out what happened with him and Archie. This chapter is just setting up what I'm planning for the future.

Chapter 6 – Been Away too Long

Greg sat in his car for fifteen minutes debating whether he should go to Baker Street and check on John. The fear in the kids eyes and the trembling in his hand was an obvious sign of terror and, knowing the boy’s history, abuse. He wasn’t working for the yard anymore, Mycroft had seen to that, but he could still see that fourteen year old boy sitting across from him, scared and brainwashed until he thought everything was his fault. “Damn it, Greg,” he cursed himself, slamming his palms against the wheel.

' _I’ll do anything, I promise, whatever you want, just don’t take me away from Sherlock, please.’_ John’s high pitched voice ran through his head as he started up the car. Those blue eyes had the same look in them when he saw them in the mart, and no matter how many ways he thought about it, Greg knew something was wrong. He had failed John by not keeping a closer eye on the boy and now he would rectify his failure, be it his division or not.

He was half way to Baker Street when his mobile buzzed with a text.

**Unknown: I need ur help**

Greg looked at his phone and hoped it wasn’t John, but that sick feeling gnawing at his stomach told him differently.

**Greg: John?**

**John: Yes, I need ur help, Greg. Please.**

**Greg: Sure, I’m on my way to Baker Street now. R U safe?**

**John: I’m fine. Meet me outside 221B**

**Greg: Be there in 10**

Greg threw his phone on top of his jacket in the passenger seat. His hands grew clammy as 221B neared, but he steeled himself. This was the only way he knew how to help, and if he called 999, he was sure Mycroft would be informed. “Bloody bastard,” he growled, thinking back to how he let Mycroft manipulate him for the sake of his family’s wellbeing. Once all of his family died, though, Anthea sent flowers and a notice that his services were no longer required. Now that he was a man with nothing to lose, Mycroft couldn’t lay a hand on him.

It turned out that something he could hit Greg with, was a car. It came out of the blue, but Greg felt the impact immediately when a black SUV hit his passenger side head on, and caused him to smash his head against the window.

The sirens echoed through the streets as people swarmed around the two cars. With hooded eyes, Greg looked over at the other car and noticed the driver had disappeared from sight. “Damn,” was all he said before the pounding in his head brought about darkness.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greg opened his eyes slowly, as the pain in his head was too painful for any sudden movements. The sirens had turned to a constant beeping noise and the numerous people who had swarmed him had been narrowed down to two. A burly man, who Greg knew was the ‘muscle,’ and of course, Mycroft Holmes sat next to his bed.

“Ah, I’m glad to see you are okay, Greg,” Mycroft said, his tone light. “How are you feeling? I asked the nurse to give you as much morphine as you like, so don’t hesitate to ask.”

Greg wanted to jump from his bed and strangle the man who seemed abnormally calm. He hated Mycroft; he had ruined his life and shown him the worst parts of himself. Now, he was lying in a bed, hooked up to wires, and he couldn’t get away from him even if he wanted to. “Why?” Was all he could ask, his voice raspy and broken.

“Here,” Mycroft said, holding up a small cup of water with a purple straw. “The Doctor said you are only supposed to eat ice chips, but I asked for a glass of water.” The smugness in his voice was palpable, and Greg felt the need to throw up more than ever.

“Why?” He asked again, more forceful this time as he ignored the cup of water.

“Why do you think,” he pulled back the cup and set it gingerly on the counter. “You are a smart man, smarter than most give you credit for, Greg. So tell me, what events led to this…accident?”

“Accident?” Greg asked, narrowing his eyes, which painfully pulled on the stitches in his scalp.

“Yes, I’m afraid it was a hit and run,” Mycroft explained, “the driver left his car and the Yard still hasn’t located him I’m afraid.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Of course Mycroft knew. He had planned the whole damn thing. Greg knew what happened, but how was a different question all together. Did he see John and him at the mart? Was John’s phone tapped? Was his? Greg’s head began pounding again with the different scenarios running rampant through it. He squinted his eyes together until Mycroft finally took pity on him.

“I keep an eye on both of you,” Mycroft said, sitting back in his chair. “You should have known better than to think otherwise, Greg. And to go to my brother’s flat with a gun,” he tsked and shook his head as if Greg was a child. “I am glad you are alright,” Mycroft stood up from his chair, brushing off any wrinkles. “However, if you ever try to contact John, or interfere in our affairs again I will see to it that the SUV hits the driver’s side next time.” The threat hung in the room like a thick mist, weighing on Greg’s soul.

He didn’t know what to say. _What do you say when someone threatens to kill you?_ “Mycroft,” Greg started, his words stuck in his mouth.

“Hmm?” The man turned to face him, umbrella twirling in hand.

“John…he…is he okay? I mean, he texted me he needed help, but-“

“Rest assured, Greg, John is far too valuable of an asset to let anything happen to. You on the other hand,” Mycroft paused, which made Greg’s stomach drop. “You are a man with nothing to lose and without a cause,” he narrowed his eyes, as if debating something. “Heed my warning, Gregory, and do not test my patience either, for the consequences will be far more than you are willing to pay.”

Greg swallowed hard again. Usually, he could handle threats, he worked in security and law enforcement after all, but Mycroft Holmes…well, he knew how to threaten alright. “I understand,” Greg said, because he did understand, but that didn’t mean he was going to obey.

“Very good,” Mycroft nodded once and turned on his heel. “Get well soon,” he said just before the sliding door closed.

“Fucking bastard,” Greg sighed and fell limp on the hospital bed. The thoughts of John still filled his head. The young boy and the young man melded into one as he cried for help and begged Greg to save him. It would have to be done secretly, and Greg knew he was putting his life on the line, but he had to get John away from the Holmes.’ He wouldn’t let those pompous bastards beat him.

Greg fell asleep as plots and schemes of how to take down Mycroft and Sherlock filled his mind.

 


	7. Black Hole Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV during John walking in on him and Archie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for only posting one chapter a week, but to make it up to you here is a long-ish chapter and some good old smut.
> 
> Happy 4th of July to any American readers and to any UK readers...sorry about that whole 1776 thing(:

Chapter 7 – Black Hole Sun

It was easy, too easy, Sherlock thought, as he sat in the back of an unmarked car. It only took two favors; one from Mycroft and one from the nurse who Sherlock helped avoid jail seven years ago. He now understood the appeal of politics that his brother had taken to, especially when his prize sat on his lap.

The small boy was in a drug induced sleep and would be for another six hours. Sherlock had injected Archie with a homemade sedative and the boy was out like a light. It was perfect and soon, John would come home and realize how much he needs this life, how much he needs Sherlock. The plan was perfect and John was perfect; there was no way he could fail.

When he got Archie home, Sherlock knew there was no time to lose. John would be home any minute and the scene had to be perfect if his brilliant boy was to be fooled. He carried the black haired boy upstairs, ignoring the grunts and whimpers coming from his lips. With no effort at all, Sherlock placed Archie down on the bed and began undressing him quickly and efficiently.

When the boy lay naked on the bed, Sherlock noticed how his small pale body nothing like John’s at that age. Sherlock stripped too, leaving his clothes strewn about the floor as if Archie had undressed him as they walked. _I am brilliant,_ Sherlock thought as he hopped into the bed and situated the boy under him as they both lay on their stomachs. One arm was over Archie’s back while he had the other tucked under himself.

He briefly thought about coming on the boy to let John see just how far he’d gone, but when he heard the front door open, Sherlock closed his eyes and waited. He held his breath and forced back a smile when he heard John at the door. The small inhale of breath from John’s lush lips caused blood to rush to Sherlock’s flaccid cock. The small form below him, unaware of everything going on, continued to sleep while John assumed the worst. _You always do, my sweet boy._

When John closed the door however, Sherlock sat up, confused at what just happened. He had expected a huge blow up, then Mycroft’s men would take Archie away, then there would be the most amazing make up sex of all time. Instead though, John turned his back on him, taking away his light.

Waves bashed up against the breakwater, bringing a grimace to Sherlock’s face. He needed John just as much as the boy needed him, so why, WHY, didn’t he see what was happening. Sherlock fisted his hand in the sheet, but his other hand was resting on warm smooth skin. He still had Archie with him and if he only used him once, just quickly, then maybe, just maybe the darkness crawling up the stairs would fall back down to the basement.

He gently pulled back the duvet and caressed the two small orbs of Archie’s bum. The pale flesh felt amazing in his palm, but it was missing something. _I want John. I need John._ Angry, Sherlock thrust his whole middle finger into the tight hole, eliciting a breathy whimper from the boy. He moved his finger in and out rapidly, scrunching his face in frustration. It wasn’t working like it was supposed to, but he knew what would. If it wouldn’t be given to him, the darkness thought, then it would be taken.

With that, Sherlock retracted his finger, wiped it on the sheets, put on a pair of pants, and then leapt out of bed. He could hear John talking downstairs and fear shot through him like a lightning bolt. _Who is he talking to? Mycroft? The Police?_ Sherlock knew any of those would be fine, but the fact that John went straight to someone else and not him, well, that was just unacceptable.

He flew down the stairs to see John, red faced and shaking, standing by the door looking down at his mobile. “John,” Sherlock said, his voice telling the boy that the games were over. It only took two more steps towards him, before John decided to fling himself at Sherlock. He easily took the blow, using John’s own weight against him.

“You fucking bastard!” John shouted as they hit the ground. Sherlock rolled him over until his arse was pressing down on the John’s cock. He bucked and clawed, trying to get up, but Sherlock was not letting him go this time. He would never let him go again. With two hands on his wrist, legs over his feet, and someone sitting on his hips, John was virtually immobile. “Get off me, Sherlock. I swear to God!” The boy hissed, his rage out weighing his common sense.

“Shh, John, shh,” Sherlock said calmly, waiting for the boy to tire out. He didn’t though, and tried to reach for his mobile that had fallen on the ground in their scuffle. Sherlock quickly pulled John’s hands down so he could use his knees as weights while his hands remained free. When John was secure, he grabbed the phone and flipped it to recent calls.

“Greg?” Sherlock asked, shocked and a little confused as to why John had the man’s number in his phone.

“I told him about you,” John said, struggling desperately to get his hands free. “And if you don’t have that boy out of here in ten minutes, I’m going to tell him everything you did!”

_Oh my, you’re jealous, aren’t you John? Want me all to yourself?_ Sherlock smiled, actually happy that he had misread the situation. The lights inside his mind glowed dimly at the new found information, and Sherlock was getting harder by the minute. He needed John now, hard and fast against the floor, but he knew if what the boy said was true, then he would need to work fast.

Still kneeling on John’s hands, Sherlock used the boy’s phone to call his brother.

“John, I believe we have some things to discuss,” Mycroft said, no doubt talking about Greg. Sherlock knew his brother had a tap on John’s phone, though he didn’t know if there was one on the former DI’s.

“You two can discuss what John did later,” Sherlock said, smiling down at the furious blonde. “Is Greg coming over to the flat?”

“Of course not,” Mycroft confirmed, “he’s been taken care of. Are you quite done with young Archibald?”

“Yes, he’s untouched, as per your requirements.” John’s eyes grew wide at that, realizing he had made a huge mistake. Sherlock had hoped it would calm him a bit, but instead, John grew even more ferocious at that thought of being tricked. “Stop it,” Sherlock snapped at him.

“I’ll have my men come pick him up. I take it your half-baked plan did not turn out to your liking, brother dear,” Mycroft’s tone seemed a little too pleased for Sherlock’s liking.

“On the contrary,” he stroked one hand over John’s cheek, which the boy tried to bit at. “John has just realized how much he needs me and I him. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to ravish my lover,” Sherlock purred and ended the call.

“What are you talking about? I don’t need you! I hate you!” John tried to convince himself.

“Oh, is that so, my little Doctor?” Sherlock grinned as he grabbed the hem of John’s shirt and pulled it up to expose his belly. “Because I think you were so terrified I’d left you that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.” Slowly, Sherlock undid John’s belt and started on his zip. “But I know what to do with you, John,” Sherlock said, palming John’s semi hard cock through his trousers.

“Sherlock, don’t…” John protested, but was stopped by his voice catching in his throat. Sherlock opened his mouth wide and stuck quickly, latching on to the meat between John’s neck and shoulder. “Ahh,” John screamed and bucked his hips up wildly.

God did he taste delicious. Sherlock relished the sweet salty and irony flavor that filled his mouth. John was his and now, after five years of resisting, Sherlock knew the boy was finally letting go and accepting his fate. That thought alone made the Detective rock his hips a few times, stimulating both their lengthening members. “I love you, John,” Sherlock said, lifting his knees to free John’s hands. As predicted, the boy’s hands stayed still and let Sherlock do what he thought best…and what he thought best was to get John naked as quickly as possible.

“Why?” John asked, the question taking Sherlock off guard. How did he not know? Sherlock had worshipped the ground John walked on for five years and would continue to do so until the day he died. He’d branded a ‘JW’ on his body for John, killed for John, made love sweetly to John, taken his virginity, taken everything and given everything for John. _How can he not know?_

“Because you’re you, John,” Sherlock said, pausing in his actions.

“So, you weren’t going to sleep with him?” John asked, his face adorably serious.

“No, no, of course not,” Sherlock assured him, because it was true, he wasn’t even attracted to the small unconscious boy in his bedroom. All he wanted was John, and John was what he would have. “I only want you, John.” Sherlock lifted himself up slightly, pulling off his pants as well as John’s. “Tell me you want me.”

“I…I want you, Sherlock,” John said, his voice squeaking when Sherlock pulled the shirt over his head. He looked down at his feast of golden brown skin below him and he realized he needed to be inside John right now.

“I know,” Sherlock smiled and in one smooth motion flipped John over and pulled him up to support himself on all fours. The boy only shuffled for a moment, but to Sherlock’s pleasure, stayed exactly where he was supposed to. It was happening, just like it had done when John was fourteen, his mind was shifting. Sherlock smiled at this and immediately thrust two fingers into John’s hole.

With a loud yelp, John arched his back, presenting Sherlock with a better angle for deeper penetration. Sherlock rubbed his hand up and down John’s back slowly, encouraging the moans as he entered a third finger. “Sherlock, please,” John begged him, his boy falling right into a lustful headspace.

“Shhh,” he chuckled darkly and took his fingers out. Thinking a moment of how he wanted him, Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulders and pulled him up so he was flush against his chest. Giving a few pumps with his hips and rubbing his cock along the curve of John’s ass, Sherlock lined himself up and pressed into John.

He had made love to John so many times that he would have lost count if every single one of them wasn’t in his mind palace, and still, the small hole enveloping him remained tight. John grunted, lost in the friction of Sherlock sliding in and out, pushing and pulling with every thrust of his hips.

With one arm wrapped around John’s chest and the other pumping him in time to his own thrusts, Sherlock was speeding towards his completion. He wanted, no needed, John to finish first so he could feel that tight squeeze around him, sucking all the darkness from Sherlock and going into John.

He found what he needed by slamming hard into John’s prostate and sliding his thumb over the moist head. John came with a shout, spilling and clenching in tandem, which forced Sherlock’s body to tighten. Two more thrusts had Sherlock was coming hard, shooting spurt after spurt of his seed into John’s willing hole.

When their breathing slowed, Sherlock stayed inside of John and laid them down together so they spooned on the living room floor. His length grew soft inside his boy and finally slipped out, making small wads of thick come drip down John’s arse cheek.

“Stay with me,” Sherlock said, wrapping his arm around John’s tired body. It wasn’t a question, but John’s response almost made him grow hard again.

“Okay,” John whispered, making all the lights in Sherlock’s mind glow with a light brighter than the sun.    

             


	8. Attrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV directly after chapter 7. A little bit of smut. A little bit of plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 8 – Attrition

John’s shoulder was starting to hurt from lying on the ground so long. Sherlock’s chest provided a warm solid pillow for his head, but the way he was intertwined with the older man’s limbs was really starting to get to him. Groaning a bit, John tried to stretch his arms and legs away from the scorching body, only to be gripped tighter and pulled closer. “Sherlock,” John complained, but only used half his strength to push against the arms around his waist.

“Warm. Stay,” Sherlock murmured, still in a sleepy haze. John knew Sherlock had problems sleeping ever since he met him those many years ago. He needed John to be there in order for him to relax and fall off into a deep slumber made for those who hadn’t closed their eyes in three days. It was a burden at first, John remembered, but now he was starting to accept that he held someone’s sanity in his hands. After all, Sherlock held both his heart and sanity in his long pale hands.

“Oh crap, Sherlock, what time is it?” John asked straining in a vice like hold to grab his mobile. He swiped the screen to see that it was 8:37am; twenty three minutes until his proctored exam. “Sherlock, let go of me. I need to get ready or I’m going to be late.” John growled at the man next to him as Sherlock continued to stoke the bandage on his back.

“Stop it,” John batted his hand away and finally squirmed away from what appeared to be a giant octopus with four long tentacles all reaching for him. “I can’t miss this test…wait-” Suddenly, as he was standing naked with come dripping out of his arse and down his leg, John realized they were not the only people in the flat. “Archie, oh God, he’s awake! And missing! Sherlock, what have you done?”

“Oh, don’t be daft, John,” Sherlock waved him off, then, a mischievous look came to his silver eyes. “Come back over here and I’ll tell you,” he winked, making John grin and roll his eyes. He didn’t have time for thinking about what happened last night. What Sherlock did was idiotic, but his intentions behind it…well, they were good, right?

John smiled to himself for a moment, thinking about how far Sherlock had gone to keep him at Baker Street. To have someone that cared that much about him was amazing… _What? He was about to rape a kid to convince me to stay? Holy fuck!_

“Mycroft’s men took him back to the hospital. He won’t remember a thing, not even those lovely sounds you made last night, John.” Sherlock’s smirk grew wider as he placed his hands under his head and stretched out completely naked on the floor. It was obvious how unashamed the detective was of his dried-come covered chest or his bit, which not so surprisingly, were half erect.

“Oh,” John said, surprised. He hadn’t seen any men come take the boy, but then again he wasn’t in a position to be aware of his surroundings. “Good, that’s good. Damn it,” he looked down at his body and reached back to feel his sore behind, “I can’t go out like this.”

“Shower!” Sherlock shouted, jumping up with the enthusiasm of a five year old.

“No Sherlock,” John said sternly before heading up the stairs. “I don’t have time.”

“I’ll be quick,” was all John heard before arms wrapped around his stomach and pulled him a few inches off the ground. He could feel Sherlock’s hardness pressing into his lower spine as he was carried quickly into the shower. “Mine,” Sherlock growled and bit the same spot he had last night.

“Ow!” John yelped, but turned on the tap. “What is it with you and biting?”

“You’re just too tasty,” was all Sherlock said before he pulled John into a deep kiss. John always tried to be the dominate tongue, but Sherlock’s speed and skill always had him melting into the other man’s arms. While they kissed, John felt a flannel washing him with a gentleness that was only seen after a night of rough sex.

Sherlock let his lips go, and with a smile, started washing over John’s arse and thighs. He held John steady while he squatted before the shorter man and took him completely into his mouth. John gasped as blood immediately rushed to his limp member, making it grow while it was still inside Sherlock’s mouth. With an expert tongue swirling over the head, John let his head drop back and grabbed the mop of brown curls between his legs.

“Sherlock, fuck,” John voice, breathless as his come was sucked greedily from him. As his legs got back their strength, John went on auto pilot and got down on his knees when Sherlock stood up. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have enough time. All John knew was that Sherlock had pleasured him and now he wanted to do the same.

John had become quite skillful at giving head, but Sherlock’s cock was larger than average, making it difficult for him to take it all the way into his throat. This, however, did not stop Sherlock from trying every time. It started off slow, John using his hand to stroke as he sucked on the head. Until finally, Sherlock grabbed the short blonde hairs on John’s head and started to buck into his mouth harshly. “That’s it, John. Take me,” he growled down at him, his face flush as he neared completion.

John gripped Sherlock’s bony hips and opened his throat wide for the man to buck into. With a few more thrusts, John felt hot spurts of come hit the back of his throat, making him cough but swallow.

Sherlock was panting by the end, but helped John to his feet and placed both hands on the side of his face to pull the younger one into another passionate kiss. When they broke free, John placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest to hold him off. “I have to go. I’ll be back after the test…I promise.” John kept eye contact, showing Sherlock he meant every word he was saying.

For better or for worse, he loved Sherlock, loved what he did to him, how he made him feel, how he never had to be fake around the older man. It was easy and it was nice, and John decided he was the one making his life miserable, not Sherlock. Yes, he loved Sherlock, but most of all, he needed him.

“I know you will do splendidly, my John,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, then let him go.

With one last rinse of his body, John jumped out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed in record time. He was out of the flat with a piece of toast in his mouth and thirteen minutes to make it to his class. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, but was thankful when a black car pulled up in front of 221B. “Bless you Mycroft,” John whispered and got into the car.

John had never seen the driver before, but then again, Mycroft had the entire British Government working for him. They pulled away and headed to the University. John laid his head back against the seat, relishing in the slight ache in his bum and the finger shaped bruise marks on his hips. He knew he shouldn’t like them, God did he know, but deep down they made him feel wanted, needed…owned.

Slowly, he turned his head to look out the window. They had made a wrong turn. _Damn it!_ “Excuse me, Sir, you made a wrong turn back there. I need to go to-”

“I’m taking you where you need to go, John,” the man said.

“Yeah? And where is that?” John asked, scooting closer to the door. He prepared himself to jump out when suddenly, the locks shot down into the door where John couldn’t reach it. _Oh God, Mycroft’s gonna have me killed!_

“To Mr. Moran of course,” he said. John didn’t stand a chance when the driver turned around and fired one dart into his torso.

“Sherlock,” he breathed, before tipping over to land on the seat cushion.

 ==========================================================================================================

John didn’t know how long he’d been out for, but he could tell that the sun was still up from a far window in the warehouse. His hands and feet were bound together, while his torso and thighs were tied to a wooden chair. The warehouse was almost completely empty, save for a few tarp covered items and two men; John Watson being one of them and he assumed the other was Mr. Moran.

The man was as tall as Sherlock, but had reddish-brown hair with a well-trimmed beard that shimmered lightly in the fluorescents. He walked towards John with an air of confidence and the heaviness of a man who had been through a lot. “John Watson, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

John looked at him in confusion, trying desperately to identify the man who had apparently kidnapped him. “That’s okay, you only know me by my user name, StripedTiger.”

John’s eyes grew wide at the new revelation. He remembered that name, remembered it very well indeed. “Why?” he asked, confused even more as to why someone who instant messaged him so long ago had kidnapped him and taken him to an abandoned warehouse.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Well apparently,” John said, already pissed that he was missing one of the most important exams of his life. He had been through a lot of these kinds of things with Mycroft, so honestly, John wasn’t that frightened. If he died, he died and if Sherlock came to save him, they would have mind blowing sex for 24 hours straight. _It’s not that complicated._

“Feisty little thing, aren’t ya?” Moran said, giving John a wide grin. “In a nut shell, I’m going to save you and kill Sherlock.” _Okay, just got complicated._

“What? Why?” John started to struggle against his bonds. He couldn’t let this arsehole kill Sherlock, he couldn’t! _What am I supposed to do if Sherlock dies?_

“Because your master, killed my master,” his voice turned dark at the mention of ‘masters.’

_Master? Oh my God, he’s talking about Moriarty, isn’t he? But, Sherlock didn’t kill him, I killed him!_ John started to panic; he couldn’t let Sherlock take the blame for something he did. Sherlock was innocent in all this, and John had to protect him, would protect him.

“I killed Moriarty,” John said, voice clear as it echoed through the warehouse.               


	9. You Know My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV as he tracks down John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I had a bit of trouble with this chapter, so I'm sorry if it isn't as elaborate as it should be.
> 
> Beware, cliffhangers lie ahead ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Chapter 9 – You Know My Name

Sherlock was getting dressed for the day when he received the phone call he had dread since John had become his. It was Mycroft’s name on the screen, and Sherlock already had a bad feeling in his gut when he answered the phone. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking down the steps.

“It’s John,” Mycroft said, his tone serious and to the point. “We’ve lost track of him on the CCTV.”

“What do you mean you lost track of him? How is that even possible?” Sherlock yelled. He put his mobile on speaker and immediately pulled up the satellite screen to ping the tracker in John’s neck. He’d hoped he would never have to use it, but right now he was glad that one night, while John slept soundly, he placed the small device under the boy’s skin.

“I have all my men working to find him, Sherlock. I just need you to stay calm and do not do anything rash,” Mycroft said, or more like pleaded to his younger brother.

Sherlock was about to tell Mycroft about the tracker, when a knock came from the front door. His hope wanted it to be John, but the image on his phone indicated his boy was in some sort of warehouse ten kilometers away. He went to the door and opened it to find a manila folder. “Hold on,” Sherlock said to his brother as he picked up the folder and pulled out the contents.

There were two large photos of John tied to a chair, making Sherlock’s blood boil at the sight. He would make whoever was responsible for tying his John up suffer greatly. John was his first priority though, and getting him out and into his arms was the only thing Sherlock could think about. The next piece of paper had large writing on it stating that he was either to come alone, or not at all.

Sherlock ginned at this, knowing it would be better to be the only one to find this unknown kidnapper. The Government or petty legal issues would be of no concern and Sherlock could take his time cutting off every part of this person. “Sherlock? Sherlock, are you still there?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Sherlock told him as he grabbed his coat from the hanger. “Let me know if your men find anything, won’t you?”

“We’ll find him, Sherlock, I promise,” Mycroft told him, then ended the call.

In a flash, Sherlock was out the door and hailing a cab to take him to John. He watched the little green dot on his phone constantly, hoping somehow he could channel his energy to John to let him know everything was going to be okay. He had to focus on John, because thoughts of the horrible things he was about to do would consume him if he didn’t.

When he finally arrived, Sherlock paid the cabby and then cautiously made his way into the old building. “Well look who it is,” a voice, not John’s voice, echoed off the walls like a pinball. “The great Sherlock Holmes has come to grace us with his presence!”

There was a stench of rust and old metal in the air, completing the entire look of an old abandoned warehouse. As he walked farther in, Sherlock saw John, his beautiful brave John, tied to a chair in the middle of the vast room. Another man paced back and forth in front of John, his reddish brown hair giving away his identity immediately.

Sherlock had only met one man with that color of hair long ago. It was Sebastian Moran who held a pistol in his hand, threatening all that Sherlock loved. Sebby, as he was so fondly called, was Jim’s first live-in boy, making him the unluckiest human being in all of existence. Sherlock knew how crazy Jim had been, and looking at his ex-plaything it was really no surprise to see the anxious, angry man before him.

“Sebastian,” Sherlock acknowledged him, nodding his head. Sparing a glance at John, he winked at the boy to let him know everything was under control. He could defuse the situation easily now that he knew who was responsible for causing such a fuss. Perhaps now he wouldn’t dismember and/or disembowel Sebastian, as it would only be adding insult to injury for the poor boy who had lost his world those many years ago.

Jim was the young man’s weakness; it was what brought him to this brink and it was what would push him over the edge. The late psychopath was a cruel sadistic man, and Sherlock understood that, but when his boy was threatened in any way it meant it was time for action.

 “Funny seeing you here,” Sherlock said nonchalantly as he continued to walk closer to John. “I would have thought you’d be out hunting down Samantha Newbridges’ parents. She’s next on the list, is she not?” Sherlock said, putting all the pieces of the crime scene together. Archibald was a way to get Sherlock’s attention, nothing more.  

The look on the man’s face told Sherlock everything he needed to know. Sebastian grinned slightly, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Without warning, he walked behind John and started to untie him. “Very good, Sherlock. Jim always spoke very highly of you, especially your deduction skills,” he untied a few ropes around John’s torso, but left his wrists and thighs tied to the chair. “That’s why we’re going to play a little game and see,” he held up the ropes in one hand and his gun in the other, “you’re already on your way to winning!”

“Sebastian, why don’t we skip all the ode to Moriarty games and-”

“Don’t you dare say his name!” Sebastian shouted, gripping John’s chin and holding the gun to his head.

Sherlock’s stomach dropped through the ground and straight into hell when he saw the gun so close to his John’s head. This was going downhill quickly and Sherlock was losing control as every second passed by. “Alright, alright, just calm down Sebby,” Sherlock made his pitch higher, trying to trigger something in the man’s subconscious.

The plan seemed to work too, as Sebastian released John and focused on Sherlock again. “Sherlock,” John called to him, making his heart melt from only two syllables.

“Everything is going to be alright, John,” Sherlock reassured him while Sebastian began to pace back and forth quickly.

“Don’t lie to him! That’s all you people know how to do, isn’t it?” he leveled the gun back on Sherlock. “That’s your next question. Get it right, and I’ll untie one more knot from John. Get it wrong and your dead where you stand.”

“Sebastian, no, wait,” John tried to get the man’s attention. _My brave boy._ Sherlock focused, readying himself for what was to come.

“Tell John what you did when you first met, Sherlock. Tell him what you did to his house, and, oh yes, why don’t you elaborate on how you planned on fucking him and keeping him as a toy the moment you first met. Go on!” he shouted.

Sherlock inwardly sighed. He knew John wouldn’t care about those things now that he realized they were meant to be together. It would be easy to tell John, especially because it was obvious that Sebastian already knew the answers. Sherlock took a deep breath and another step closer.

“John already knows I had planned to keep him from the moment I first saw him. I don’t keep secrets from him anymore. John and I love each other, which is something you will never understand.” Sherlock said, lifting his chin in both smugness and defiance. He had had enough of this game, and if the sounds outside the building were anything to go by, Mycroft had located them.

“Is that so,” Sebastian scowled, but untied the final knot to John’s freedom. “You think love is so wonderful, do you? Well let’s see if love can save you now.” He lifted his arm, training the gun on Sherlock. Within a spit second, John projected himself out of the chair and straight into Sebastian. _John no!_

“Freeze!” an unexpected voice shouted. Sherlock looked up to see an injured Greg running into the room, his gun drawn on the two rolling masses on the floor. “I said freeze!” he shouted again and fired his gun at the roof, causing both boys to stop and look up. “John, get up and walk over to me,” Greg said, commanding the room better than Sherlock would have thought. Perhaps this would go much easier than he thought it would. The sooner he could get John home, the sooner he could fuck the boy senseless.

John rolled away and stood up, leaving Sebastian on the floor. For a moment, he hesitated, debating whether he should go to Greg or Sherlock. Of course, when his feet started to move, John made his way slowly over to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled widely at him, focused only on his John until he heard Greg shout again. “I said, don’t move!” was the last thing he heard before two loud bangs rang through the air. John, being the beautiful stupid boy he was, jumped at Sherlock to shield him when the shots were fired.

He couldn’t move quick enough, and the next thing he knew Sebastian was lying dead on the floor and John was motionless in front of him. “John!” Sherlock screamed, his voice reaching a pitch he didn’t know was possible as he felt his entire soul shatter. He ran over and knelt by John, picking him up in his arms to examine the gushing wound on his shoulder. The bullet had gone clean through on the opposite side of the ‘SH.’

“Oh my God,” Greg said, running over to them and pulling out his phone.

“Call this number,” Sherlock told him and threw Greg his phone with Mycroft’s information on it.

John needed help, and he needed it quick. Mycroft could help him, Mycroft always helped when Sherlock got into situations where he couldn’t get himself out. The light were dimming quickly as small shadows ran around with snuffers and pails of water to put out any light John had set ablaze. Sherlock knew if the light went out in John’s eyes, then the light would go out in his mind palace forever, leaving him in eternal darkness.  

"Yes, yes, I’m with Sherlock,” Greg said into the phone. “John’s been shot.”    

           


	10. Zero Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV directly after chapter nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> So we are nearing the end for this series. I'm thinking one or two more chapters, depending on if I decide to do a Mycroft POV chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 10 – Zero Chance

John could still hear the loud crack before pain exploded in his shoulder. Even the sounds of Sherlock’s shouting and Greg’s frantic chanting of, ‘he’s going to be alright, he has to be alright,’ echoed through his brain. As he lay motionless on the hospital bed, though, John could only hear the steady beeping from a monitor and his own breathing. The pain, however, was still there, which made him want to keep his eyes closed and hope that sleep would make the pain go away.

It hurt to open his eyes, hell, it hurt to even breathe, but John forced his lids open. The walls were white with various patterns in turquois and coral on a thick border around the middle of the room. The door was closed, but John could hear commotion going on outside his room. As he continued to scan the room with groggy vision, John’s eyes came to rest on a man he knew all too well.

“John,” Mycroft bowed his head slightly and shifted in the wooden chair next to John’s bed.

“Mycroft,” John rasped, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He tried to reach for the cup of water on the side table, but was stopped by the excruciating pain in his shoulder. That’s when he noticed his entire chest and shoulder were covered in white gauze. “What…”

“It’s alright, John. Here, let me help you,” Mycroft offered, as he picked up the cup and held it to the younger man’s lips. “Slowly,” he instructed, when John attempted to gulp it down in one loud slurp.

He felt a little better, but the shock of seeing his shoulder in such a state made tears well just on the edge of spilling over. “I was…I was shot,” John finally said, his mind slowly comprehending what had actually happened to him. “Sherlock?!” He cried, looking at Mycroft with wide, pleading eyes. The last thing he remembered seeing was Sherlock reaching out to him and oh God, what if the second shot hit the only person who ever truly loved him.

“He’s fine, John. Please, try and relax,” Mycroft said, placing the water back on the table and once again fixing his icy stare on John. “You are safe, as is my brother, which…which is why I am here.” Mycroft sighed and pursed his lips together, not sure of what he was about to say.

“I-I don’t understand,” John said. He was relieved that Sherlock was alright and that the pain in his shoulder was not in vain.

“John…you have saved my brother’s life twice in the literal sense, and many more times in other ways that only a few are able to understand.” Mycroft paused for a moment, gazing deep into John’s eyes.

John squirmed, as much as his injury would allow, under the scrutiny. Unsure of what to do, he said what he truly thought. “He would do the same for me.” It was true, more than true, and both men in the room knew it to be fact.

“Yes, yes he would. But you, John, you did something I had not expected, or planned for. You took a bullet for Sherlock, and as thanks, I would like to offer you a proposition.”

“O-Okay,” John said, a little scared because he knew what kind of man Mycroft Holmes truly was.

“This is a one time only offer. If you do not accept it now, then the contents will never be brought up again. Ever,” Mycroft said, giving John a stern glare to prove his point.

John only nodded, even more afraid than he was before. _What in the hell is he offering?_

“You have saved my brother’s life and now I am offering you your life back.”

John was silent for a moment, unsure of what Mycroft meant. He had a life, a life with Sherlock. It wasn’t what he had planned, but what else was out there that Sherlock would approve of? “My life?”

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded. “I will ensure you never see the like of me or Sherlock again. You will be relocated and start a brand new life. All you have to do is say yes, and Mr. Lestrade will take you where you need to be.”

John looked down at his hands and picked at his nails. _What kind of offer is that? How…how can I leave Sherlock? What would happen to him? What would happen to me? What would happen to everyone around Sherlock?_ “And if I say no?”

John watched the hopefulness in Mycroft’s eyes return at the question, and knew the man was aware of what would happen if John said yes. “Then I will require you to tell Mr. Lestrade your decision and then Sherlock will come in to keep you company until the doctors say you can go home. I am sure you and my little brother will live an…interesting life together.”

The boy sighed and chewed on his lip, mulling over the two options that would determine the rest of his life. Starting over would be amazing, hell, who didn’t want to start over and fix all the things they did wrong. He would, however, still see the beautifully carved ‘SH’ and the bullet wound on both his shoulder’s every morning and night in the mirror. He would still feel Sherlock pressing up against him the shower. He would still feel Sherlock inside him and all around him. He would still hear the hearty baritone in his ears even though Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John would always be Sherlock’s, but the only question was, would he accept it?

If he left, then who knows how many people would suffer from Sherlock losing his mind. If John wasn’t there, would Sherlock pick someone up off the streets? Would he be able to solve cases? Would he kill somebody? Would he get hooked on drugs again? There were so many questions, and John knew most of them didn’t have good answers. 

Out of all the reasons he could think of, there was one that John knew was the most horrendous of all. John wanted Sherlock, because Sherlock was his now, just as much as John was his. Sherlock loved him more than life its self, and there was no way in hell John could go back to something as mediocre as normal love. He needed what the tall dark haired man gave him, and John had finally realized that if he wanted the dew of life, it would have to be sipped from Sherlock’s mouth.

“I…thank you for the offer, but…” John paused, swallowing the dry pit in his throat. “I have to stay with Sherlock.”

“That is splendid news, John,” Mycroft clapped his hands once and stood up. “Thank you,” he said in a more serious tone. Both men knew that John had just taken another bullet to save Sherlock. “I’ll send Mr. Lestrade in and then talk to your doctors.”

John actually smiled, unable to fight the muscles at the corners of his mouth. He was going to be with Sherlock, and Sherlock was going to be with him, forever.

“John,” Greg said, peeking his head through the door and walking in to stand at the end of John’s bed.

“Greg, hi,” John said, the smile still on his face. “You saved my life, thank you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough,” he said, giving John a sympathetic smile. “So, umm, Mycroft said you had something to tell me.”

“Yeah, it’s about Sherlock and me. You see,” John began, thinking up the best way to convince the man in front of him, “Sherlock and I are dating. When I called you, I was really angry because I thought he was cheating on me and…but everything is okay now, so no worries.” John continued to smile in an attempt to fool Greg.

His words seemed to lack what the man needed to hear as Greg stepped around the bed and kneeled down beside John’s bed. He grabbed John’s good had and clasped it between his own. “John,” Greg said, his voice dangerously sincere, “I can’t possibly imagine what you’ve been through these past five years. What I do know is that you are a very, very good person, and you deserve to be treated with love, dignity, and-”

“Greg,” John interrupted him, unable to hear such kind words when Greg didn’t know the truth. John didn’t care what he deserved. After all, he was the one being selfish. Plus, Sherlock did love him and respect him, even though John was not a good person like Greg claimed. “I’m fine. Please, you have to believe me. This is where I want to be, no, where I need to be.” John squeezed Greg’s hand tightly, wincing at his muscles tightening in his torso.

“Where you need to be? John, I don’t think you understand what you’re involved in,” Greg pleaded.

“Greg, I understand all too well what I’m doing,” John told him and slipped his hand free of Greg’s grip. “I have to protect Sherlock; be the barrier between him and others. I owe him at least that and plus…” John paused, afraid of admitting the darkness inside of him.

“Plus?”

“I need him,” John mumbled, just loud enough for Greg to hear.

The confusion and shock on Greg’s face was interrupted by a loud bang as Sherlock threw the door open dramatically. “John! Thank God!” he said, taking two long strides to end up by John’s other side. He gently ran his hand over the gauze, the anger and sadness clear in his eyes.

“Sherlock,” John smiled at the man who felt so deeply for him. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he laughed, when Sherlock continued to inspect his entire body.

“I was so worried about you, John. Mycroft wouldn’t let me in until he talked to you.” Sherlock began running his hand through John’s matted hair frantically. “He said you want to stay with me…is-is that true?” he asked, a light visible in his eyes. It was that look, the look of being so dependent on someone you feel your entire being would shatter into a million pieces when they were away, that made John nod his head shyly.

“Yea,” John said, another smile tugging at his lips. Sherlock leaned in to kiss him, so John could taste the sweet honey that his body craved for five years.

“Weeell,” Greg said, standing up and brushing his suit off, “I can see my efforts are not needed here anymore. But John,” he said as he dug through his jacket pocket, “I want you to take my card, just…if you ever need to talk about anything, day or night.”

“Thanks,” John took the card, knowing he would never use it. He saw what kind of destruction he’d caused when he called Greg. If John would have just trusted Sherlock like he knew he should, everything would have been fine.

With that, Greg left the room and closed the door, leaving John and Sherlock alone in the room together. “Sherlock, I’m…I’m-“

“No,” Sherlock said, standing up and walking over to the other side of the bed. Without another word, the older man lowered the bar on the bed and scooted in, gently lifting John’s good side and slipping underneath him.

Once they settled and the pain of being jostled subsided, John closed his eyes at the beautiful warmth radiating below him. He felt whole, as if the old Greek myths were true and John had found his other half that Zeus had cut away from him at birth. It was right, and even though John felt guilty for taking Sherlock’s genius and true love away from the world, he knew he was also protecting the world by keeping Sherlock focused on him.

“You never have to apologize to me, John. You know that,” he whispered into John’s ear. “Are you ready to go home?”

John closed his eyes, letting Sherlock act as his pain reliever, and smiled. “Yes…yes, I think I’m ready,” John said, and finally meant it.                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm attempting to learn how to use Tumblr because I'm in the process of writing a few novels and original short stories. It's not much yet, but I will post when I update on AO3 until bigger news comes up. I would really appreciate it if you either subscribed to my AO3 or to http://nightfall24.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support!


	11. Bleed Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV four days after John was shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> So this is it, the last chapter for the Strange Desire series. I'm quite sad to see it end, but I think it's best to stop while it's still good and not ruin it like the Saw movies. Anyways, I want to thank everyone for the continuous support and I really appreciate all the kind comments and kudos you've left for the story. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, I have two other series and I'm also in the process of writing a novel. So, if you are interested in reading it, please sub to my AO3 account or I'm on tumblr if you care to sub there for updates. http://nightfall24.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

Chapter 11 – Bleed Together

Four days after the events at the Warehouse 

Sherlock rested his cheek on the top of John’s head the entire ride home. It took thirty minutes, but every one of them was utter perfection as he inhaled the fresh sweet smell of John’s blonde hair over and over again. John’s breathing had slowed, meaning he had fallen asleep curled up close to Sherlock’s chest, which made the ride that much better. He ran his hand up and down John’s arm, possessively holding him close so that no one would even think about hurting his boy.

“A’right mate, we’re ‘ere,” the cabbie said, turning around and quirking an eye brow at the two men.

“Thanks,” Sherlock said, but obviously didn’t mean it. He handed the man his fare and slowly moved himself from under John’s body. It must have been the painkillers from earlier, because even as Sherlock picked him up gently under the knee and ribs, John merely mumbled. Being careful of John’s shoulder, he let the younger man’s feet down on the stoop, but kept one arm around him while Sherlock opened the door.

“Up we go,” Sherlock joked as he helped John up the steps, each lift of his leg seemingly difficult. By the time they made it up the stairs, John was breathing hard and wincing from the pain.

Sherlock growled, deep and threatening at the thought of how much pain John was in. It wasn’t just that, though, John must have been so scared when he thought he’d never see his Sherlock again. Everything was okay though, John was okay and he was with Sherlock, so all that needed to be done was to take care of his boy for the rest of their lives.

“Here, let’s take you up to the bedroom,” Sherlock told him, noting how John’s eyes hung half-mast. It was time to take care of his boy, that’s what he promised and that’s what he’d do, no matter what. He slipped an arm behind John’s back, splaying his hand out over slowly rising ribs. It was amazing how connected he felt with his boy just from those few touches and the feeling of John’s weight upon him. They were one.

When they arrived at the bedroom, Sherlock herded John over to the bed and sat him down. Sherlock had brought John button up shirts to the hospital, aware of how horrible it must have been to not be able to wear his own clothes. Plus, it was easier to take them off without hurting his injured arm.

John lazily tried to pull at the buttons, succeeding in only stretching the material. So, Sherlock lightly grabbed the hand and planted a soft kiss to John’s fingers, and then set it down on the bed. “Sherlock,” John said, and Sherlock swore he saw a hint of a smile on his face.

“You’re alright,” he reassured him, and began unbuttoning John’s shirt until a golden defined chest was exposed. With more care than given to a baby, Sherlock eased the shirt off, careful to not make John move his arm. “There,” he said. At that moment, Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He placed his hand on John’s nape and leaned in to kiss lax moist lips.

John moaned softly, his breath steady as it flooded into Sherlock’s mouth. It was like they were breathing for one another. _You can’t survive without me, I can’t survive without you, my John._ Sherlock knew this, as he deepened the kiss, tasting John, pure John, his John. “’m tired,” John mumbled as the kiss broke.

“I know, sweetheart,” Sherlock smiled kindly and helped John lay down. When John was in the prone position, Sherlock took off his own clothes, leaving him in only black pants. Then, he set out to disrobe John even more. The trousers were much easier than the shirt, which Sherlock was forever grateful for, as he didn’t want to cause John any more pain than absolutely necessary. Sherlock hooked his fingers on the waistband of John’s pants and gently tugged them down until they were completely off.

John was in pain, he knew that, but after almost losing his boy, Sherlock needed to re-familiarize himself with the precious body in front of him. He needed to feel John’s warm flesh below his fingertips. Slowly, Sherlock straddled John’s hips, not putting any pressure on them as he lightly ran his fingers down the boy’s chest.

The goose bumps he created sent a shock wave of pleasure though him, making his own cock strain against the confines of his pants. “You’re so beautiful, John,” he gasped and ran his fingers over two hardening nipples.

“Don’t stop,” John told him in a groggy voice. That’s when Sherlock realized the best way to help his boy through the pain. If he could create enough endorphins running through John’s body, then maybe it would take away some of the pain he had caused.

“Just relax,” Sherlock told him as he scooted down the bed to lie between John’s legs. An angel’s chorus couldn’t compare to the sounds John made as Sherlock took his bullocks in hand and began rolling them gently. The white flesh of his inner thigh looked too good to ignore, so Sherlock began licking and nipping up and down the lightly haired flesh.

It was slow, most likely from the medication John was on, but after much coaxing with his mouth, his boy was starting to get hard. Sherlock took John’s entire cock in his mouth and applied just the right amount of pressure to make him squirm at the top of the bed. “Gaaa,” he mumbled, then squealed when Sherlock ran his tongue up and down the slight and head.

“You like that,” Sherlock said, rather than asked, because it was obvious John was enjoying what was happening. He loved this; loved being able to give his boy pleasure and take away the hurt from the world. It was what he was there for, and he did his job gloriously.

Slowly but surely, John’s stomach muscles began to tighten under Sherlock’s hands. It wasn’t long after that, that John gave a cry of pleasure and Sherlock’s mouth was filled with his seed. He drank it up greedily, as if this was the only oasis for a thousand kilometers. It was something only Sherlock was allowed to do, no one would ever touch John again, let alone get to drink from him. John was his now, his.

Sherlock leaned up and caressed the ‘SH’ on John’s shoulder, while his other hand ran through the sweaty blond locks matted to the boy’s head. “Mine, he whispered to the only person in the world who mattered.

After a few moments of just staring at how beautiful the creature he had tamed was, Sherlock dismounted and laid his long body alongside John’s.  He rolled over on his side and placed a possessive hand on John’s stomach.

“L’ve you,” John smiled, his eyes hazy as they began to close.

“I love you too,” Sherlock’s said as his mind exploded with fireworks and great golden horns played in triumph. It was what he wanted all along, no needed all along. John loved him, truly loved him for all his darkness. Not only did John accept the blackness within him, sometimes, his dear boy would jump in with him and swim among the black tar.

If the way he reacted to Archie was anything to go by, his John was becoming the man Sherlock had tried to create those many years ago. John cast out the darkness in Sherlock’s mind, but in turn, he also fed the monster with every time he moaned or called out Sherlock’s name. They were two broken pieces, but now that they were together, they were whole.  

“I love you too,” Sherlock repeated, but knew his words fell on deaf ears, as the boy was already asleep. He loved John more than anything in the world, and now they would be together. Forever.      

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you liked what you read, come check me out on Tumblr http://nightfall24.tumblr.com/ to see the latest updates on my stories.


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